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THE 
.ESTHETIC   ATTITUDE 


BY 

HERBERT  SIDNEY  LANGFELD 


HARVARD   UNIVEHSITT 


m 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  HOWE 

1920 


COPYRIGHT,   1920,  BY 
HAKCOURT,  BRACE  AND  HOWE,  INC. 


UXORI  CARISSIM^ 

GBATO   ANIMO 

MULTA  MEIS  OCULIS  PULCHERRIMA  VISA  TULISTi; 

PLUBIMA  DONA8TI,  PABVULA  NUNC  REFEBO. 


PREFACE 

A  BOOK  on  aesthetics  is  of  value  in  so  far  as  it  as- 
sists the  reader  in  enriching  his  aesthetic  experience. 
With  this  in  mind  I  have  laid  particular  emphasis 
upon  a  description  of  the  nature  of  appreciation, 
for  I  believe  that  it  is  through  such  knowledge  that 
our  world  of  beauty  is  most  effectively  enlarged. 
Less  attention  has  been  given  to  the  act  of  creation 
because  a  description  of  the  special  technique  of 
the  several  arts,  which  is  the  chief  factor  in  artistic 
production,  lies  beyond  the  scope  of  aesthetics. 
However,  even  though  the  main  emphasis  has  been 
placed  on  appreciation,  it  cannot  be  said  that  the 
interests  of  the  artist  have  been  entirely  neglected, 
for  it  must  be  remembered  that  it  is  necessary 
for  him  to  appreciate  before  he  can  produce. 

In  maintaining  the  view  that  aesthetics  should 
be  pragmatic,  that  is,  useful  to  all  those  who  desire 
a  deeper  knowledge  of  beauty,  I  hold  a  position 
opposed  to  that  of  certain  philosophers  who  think 
that  aesthetics  should  remain  entirely  theoretical. 
Such  writers  generally  believe  that  the  chief  char- 
acteristic of  beauty  is  its  uselessness.  I  have 
tried  to  show,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  perception 
of  beauty  is  one  of  the  most  useful  of  man's  ex- 
periences. 

In  order  to  establish  the  book  on  an  empirical 


vi  PREFACE 

basis  I  have  attempted  a  description  of  the  mental 
processes  involved  in  appreciation,  and  this  psy- 
chological treatment  of  aesthetics  predominates, 
although  some  attention  has  been  given  to  the 
analysis  of  certain  art  forms.  The  principle  which 
underlies  the  psychological  study  is  that  of  the 
motor  theory  of  mind,  namely,  that  to  every 
stimulus  which  the  organism  receives  from  without, 
it  makes  a  definite  response,  the  nature  of  which 
depends  upon  both  the  stimulus  and  the  past  ex- 
perience of  the  organism.  That  there  are  bodily 
responses  to  certain  forms  of  art  has  been  dem- 
onstrated. Although  the  exact  nature  of  the  re- 
sponses to  every  form  of  art  has  not  as  yet  been 
ascertained,  it  has  seemed  safe,  considering  the 
amount  of  data  already  at  hand,  to  make  certain 
generalizations  concerning  the  reactions  of  the  or- 
ganism to  objects  of  beauty. 

Portions  of  my  lectures  on  ^Esthetics  at  Harvard 
form  the  nucleus  of  the  book,  which  is  intended  for 
the  general  reader  as  well  as  for  the  student  in 
aesthetics.  It  is  not  a  text-book  in  the  sense  of  a 
complete  and  systematic  survey  of  all  the  problems 
of  beauty,  but  rather  a  description  only  of  those 
problems  which  I  consider  fundamental  and  which 
I  hope  will  serve  as  an  introduction  to  more  ex- 
tensive study.  In  a  second  volume  I  expect  to 
cover  the  special  fields  of  art  and  the  history  of 
aesthetic  theory. 

My  gratitude  is  due  to  my  friend  and  former 
colleague  Dr.   Edwin  B.   Holt  for  the  inspiring 


PREFACE  vii 

talks  I  had  with  him  while  writing  this  book  and 
for  the  many  valuable  suggestions  he  made  after 
reading  the  manuscript.  I  am  also  indebted  to 
Dr.  A.  A.  Roback  for  reading  the  proof  and  for 
certain  corrections  in  the  first  chapter  of  the  manu- 
script, to  Professor  Chandler  Post  for  his  assist- 
ance in  correcting  the  titles  to  the  illustrations 
and  to  my  successive  office  assistants.  Miss  Emma 
Abel  and  Mrs.  Janet  M.  Clapp  for  their  pains- 
taking aid  in  preparing  the  manuscript. 

H.  S.  L. 

Cambridge,  Massachusetts, 
March  15th,  1920. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 
INTRODUCTION 

PAGE 

§  1.  The  Universal  Appeal  of  Beauty S 

§  2.  Intellectualism  versus  Emotionalism 6 

§  3.  The  Philosophical,  Psychological  and  Objective  Aspects  of  Beauty  14 

§  4.  The  Esthetic  Appreciation  of  Nature. 20 

CHAPTER  II 

THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

§  1.  Definition  ot  Pathetics 28 

§  2.  Pleasure  and  Pain 34 

i  3.  The  Various  Attitudes  Toward  the  Environment 39 

CHAPTER  III 

THE   AESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

§  1.  Concerning  Theories  of  Beauty 44 

§  2.  Absence  of  Utility  and  Purpose 44 

§  3.  Detachment  and  Isolation 48 

§  4.  Repose  in  the  Object  of  Beauty 53 

§  5.  Psychical  Distance 57 

§  6.  Complete  Participation  in  the  Object  of  Beauty 59 

§  7.  The  Feeling  of  Unreality 65 

§  8.  The  Appeal  to  our  Personal  Desires 69 

§  9.  Degrees  of  Personal  Appeal  in  the  ^Esthetic  Attitude. 72 

CHAPTER  IV 
THE  AESTHETIC  ATTITUDE  (CONTINUED) 

§  1.  Aids  for  the  ^Esthetic  Attitude  in  the  Various  Arts 84 

A.  In  Music 85 

B.  In  Architecture 86 

C.  In  Sculpture 87 

ix 


X  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

D.  In  Fine  Arte 89 

E.  In  the  Drama  and  Literature 92 

§  2.  Relation  of  Beauty  to  Truth 95 

§  8.  Relation  of  Beauty  to  Morality 108 

CHAPTER  V 

EMPATHY 

§  1.  The  Motor  Response  in  Perception 109 

§  2.  Lipps'  Theory  of  Empathy 118 

§  3.  Movements  and  Tendencies  to  Movements 117 

§  4.  Description  of  Empathy  by  Art  Critics 127 

§  5.  Gracefulness 138 

CHAPTER  VI 

ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  EMPATHY  FROM  THE  FINE  ARTS 

§  1.  Force  and  Movement 148 

§  2.  Weight 150 

§  3.  Lines  Expressive  of  Mood 154 

CHAPTER  VII 

UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

§  1.  Attention  a  Unifying  Process 168 

§  2.  Limits  to  Unification 160 

§  3.  Unification  an  Economy  of  Effort 166 

§  4.  Unity  of  Form  and  Content 169 

§  5.  Unity  between  the  Form  of  Expression  and  the  Meaning 173 

§  6.  Pleasure  in  the  Successful  Effort  to  Unify 178 

§  7.  The  Appeal  to  the  Imagination 182 

§  8.  Degrees  of  Appeal  to  the  Imagination 186 

CHAPTER  VIII 

ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  UNITY  FROM  THE  FINE  ARTS 

§  1.  Direction  of  the  Attention  Suggested  by  the  Lines 191 

§  2.  Centering  of  Interest  Through  Objects  placed  in  the  Foreground .  .  195 

§  3.  Binding  effect  of  Architectural  Backgrounds 196 

§  4.  Unity  Through  Suggested  Movement 198 

§  5.  Attraction  of  Attention  through  Detailed  Execution 204 


CONTENTS  xi 

CHAPTER  IX 
BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

PAGE 

§  1.  Balance  about  the  Perpendicular  Axis 206 

§  2.  Factors  Suggesting  Weight 207 

§  3.  Explanation  of  the  Perception  of  Suggested  Weight 210 

§  4.  Why  Symmetry  and  Balance  are  Desired 214 

§  5.  Balance  about  the  Horizontal  Axis 222 

§  6.  The  Golden  Section 224 

§  7.  Preference  for  Asymmetrical  Balance 228 

§  8.  The  Most  Pleasing  Proportions 233 

§  9.  Explanation  of  the  Preference  for  Asymmetrical  Balance 236 

CHAPTER  X 
ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  BALANCE  FROM  THE  FINE  ARTS    243 

CHAPTER  XI 

THE  ART  IMPULSE 

§  1.  Methods  of  Investigation 250 

§  2.  Criticism  of  Theories  of  the  Art  Impulse 252 

§  3.  The  Nature  of  the  Play  Impulse 254 

§  4.  The  Social  Factor  in  the  Art  Impulse 262 

§  5.  Development  of  the  Art  Impulse 269 

CHAPTER  XII 
CONCLUSION 278 


CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTION 

§  1.  The  Universal  Appeal  of  Beauty 

The  appreciation  of  beauty  is  not  only  an  impor- 
tant but  a  fundamental  reaction  of  the  human 
mind.  The  Greek  philosophers  enumerated  three 
principal  values — the  good,  the  true,  and  the  beau- 
tiful. The  first  two  have  always  been  accepted. 
Beauty  has  had  every  position  in  this  threefold 
hierarchy,  depending  upon  the  prevailing  philos- 
ophy of  the  period,  and  it  has  also  at  times  been 
banished  from  the  world  of  desirable  things.  Yet 
it  has  continued  to  live  in  the  hearts  of  men,  even 
in  ages  which  have  seemed,  when  superficially 
judged,  to  be  almost  totally  materialistic.  Per- 
haps the  best  example  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the 
late  World  War,  when  the  sense  of  beauty  pro- 
vided one  of  the  powerful  motives  for  a  free  na- 
tion's participation  in  the  struggle.  It  required 
no  organized  propaganda  to  arouse  the  indignation 
of  neutrals  when  ancient  churches,  libraries,  and 
town  halls  were  leveled  by  the  invaders.  The  in- 
dignation was  immediate  and  almost  universal, 
as  is  the  case  in  the  arousal  of  a  primitive  instinct, 
and  it  was  not  only  because  these  were  useful 
buildings,  or  because  they  were  devoted  to  wor- 
ship, but  evidently  and  undeniably  for  the  reason 


4  INTRODUCTION 

that  they  were  works  of  art.  Indeed,  the  beautiful 
is  inseparably  united  to  the  good  and  the  true, 
and  the  human  mind  that  has  not  developed  the 
experience  of  it  has  failed  to  realize  the  whole  of 
reality,  for  the  very  nature  of  the  sense  of  beauty 
is  such  that  through  it  we  gain  a  clearer  concept  of 
the  other  two  values.  The  history  of  the  race  has 
shown  that  at  the  height  of  materialistic  success, 
the  desire  for  artistic  enjoyment  has  been  a  potent 
factor  in  bringing  a  people  back  to  the  higher 
ideals  which  underlie  a  peaceful  intercourse  be- 
tween nations. 

The  keen  and  sensitive  perception  of  Mr.  John 
Galsworthy  has  shown  him  the  highest  function  of 
beauty.  '*  Will  there  ever  be  more  lovers  of  beauty 
in  proportion  to  those  who  are  indifferent  to 
beauty .f*  Who  shall  answer  that  question?  And 
yet  on  the  answer  depends  peace.  Men  may  have 
a  mint  of  sterling  qualities — be  vigorous,  adventur- 
ous, brave,  upright,  and  self-sacrificing;  be  preach- 
ers and  teachers;  keen,  cool-headed,  just  and 
industrious, — but  if  they  have  not  the  love  of 
beauty,  they  will  still  be  making  wars.  Man  is  a 
fighting  animal,  with  sense  of  the  ridiculous  enough 
to  know  that  he  is  a  fool  to  fight,  but  not  sense  of 
the  sublime  enough  to  stop  him."  ^ 

The  sense  of  beauty  is  as  vital  to  the  complete 
existence  of  the  individual  and  of  the  race  as  is  the 
sense  of  justice;  it  cannot  be  supposed  that  there 

^  John  Galsworthy,  "A  Green  Hill  Far  Away,  "Atlantic  Monthly,  April, 
1919,  p.  527. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  APPEAL  OF  BEAUTY     5 

is  any  individual  totally  lacking  in  the  former  any 
more  than  in  the  latter,  nor  that  a  nascent  appre- 
ciation of  what  is  beautiful  cannot  be  developed 
into  a  strong,  useful  and  satisfying  aesthetic  re- 
action to  the  world  of  colors,  sounds,  and  shapes. 
This  reaction,  on  the  other  hand,  can  be  as  harmful 
as  any  other  reaction  of  the  organism.  Its  ener- 
vating influence  is  frequently,  perhaps  too  often, 
used  as  an  argument  for  its  suppression.  For  some, 
indeed,  artistic  temperament  is  identified  with 
degeneracy,  and  history  can  point  to  the  decline 
of  nations  at  the  height  of  their  artistic  achieve- 
ment. To  enjoy  beauty  is  often  considered  effem- 
inate, and  the  artist,  according  to  general  opinion, 
is  an  erratic  and  somewhat  abnormal  individual. 
In  instances  where  this  is  true  it  is  due  to  a 
lack  of  balance  between  the  individual's  intellectual 
and  emotional  states.  This  balance  is  fundamental 
to  art,  and  therefore  to  explain  its  significance  and 
the  nature  of  the  processes  involved,  in  order  that 
it  may  be  more  readily  attained,  is  one  of  the  most 
important  aims  of  aesthetics.  That  the  exposition 
is  easier  than  the  accomplishment  is  readily  ad- 
mitted. Nevertheless  the  attainment  of  perfect 
balance  must  be  considered  an  ideal  goal  of  aesthet- 
ics, as  are  the  other  factors  of  a  perfect  adjustment. 
DiflBcult  as  it  may  be  to  achieve,  it  must  remain  a 
guiding  principle  for  the  healthy  development  of  a 
lasting  art. 


6  INTRODUCTION 

§  2.  Intellectualism  versus  Emotionalism 

The  intellectual  side  of  appreciation  has  been 
as  frequently  over-emphasized  as  has  been  the 
emotional,  which  fact  has  led  some  to  maintain 
that  a  study  of  aesthetic  rules  is  detrimental  to  an 
aesthetic  response,  and  that,  therefore,  education 
in  appreciation  is  not  only  unnecessary  but  may  be 
positively  harmful.  There  is  involved  in  this  ob- 
jection the  old  conflict  between  intellectualism 
and  that  form  of  intuitionalism  which  is  predomi- 
nantly emotional,  and  which  forms  the  underlying 
principle  of  the  romantic  movement. 

In  the  extreme  form  of  intellectualism  aesthetic 
appreciation  is  nothing  more  than  a  cold,  emotion- 
less judgment  as  to  whether  or  not  an  object  is 
beautiful.  An  example  of  such  appreciation  is  that 
of  an  individual  who,  in  viewing  a  certain  form  of 
architecture,  recognizes  that  it  is  Colonial,  or 
Gothic,  or  of  some  other  period,  and  who  derives 
his  pleasure  entirely  from  this  knowledge.  This  is 
too  frequently  the  attitude  of  the  connoisseur. 
A  reaction  of  this  nature  cannot  strictly  be  con- 
sidered aesthetic,  although  there  are  those  whose 
response  is  little  more  spontaneous,  yet  who  pride 
themselves  upon  their  taste. 

Intellectualism  can  easily  be  carried  to  excess, 
and  when  this  occurs  there  is  a  break  in  the  develop- 
ment of  art,  since  very  little  is  gained  by  mere 
rule  of  thumb.  "Whenever,  as  in  the  Classical 
period  and  in  the  Renaissance,  rules  have  predomi- 


INTELLECTUALISM  v.  EMOTIONALISM     7 

nated,  there  has  followed  a  reaction  on  the  part  of 
the  Romanticists  who,  in  emphasizing  the  emotional 
elements  of  artistic  response,  have  desired,  so  far 
as  possible,  to  abolish  all  formal  restrictions.  For 
them,  the  response  must  be  intuitive  and  the 
result  of  the  free  play  of  our  natural  endowment. 

The  Romanticists  are  correct  in  their  belief  that 
appreciation  as  well  as  production  should  be  in- 
tuitive, for  the  artistic  response  is  a  direct  per- 
ception, with  its  accompanying  affective  states, 
whatever  may  have  been  the  preceding  intel- 
lectual preparation.  Professor  Croce  has  been  an 
enthusiastic  exponent  of  the  theory  of  the  intuitive 
nature  of  art,  although  he  has  been  mainly  inter- 
ested in  the  abstract  problem  of  the  nature  of 
knowledge.  In  his  description  of  the  intuitive 
character  of  art,  he  quite  rightly  excludes  the 
purely  intellectual  judgment.  He  says:  "The 
only  thing  that  may  be  wanting  to  the  artistic 
genius  is  the  reflective  consciousness,  the  super- 
added consciousness  of  the  historian  or  critic, 
which  is  not  essential  to  artistic  genius. "  ^ 

The  Intellectualists,  on  the  other  hand,  are  cor- 
rect in  so  far  as  they  assert  that  there  should  be  a 
rational  background  for  response.  While  the  ex- 
tremes of  each  school  should  be  condemned,  the 
two  positions  can  readily  be  reconciled.  So-called 
intuitive  responses  can  be  present  no  matter  how 
much  there  has  been  of  previous  practice  and  study. 
Only  those  who  have  not  reflected  upon  the  matter 

*  JEaihelic,  translated  by  Douglas  Aiaslie,  p.  25. 


8  INTRODUCTION 

can  believe  that  intuition  in  art  means  complete 
appreciation  springing  suddenly  from  nowhere. 
Only  those  who  have  never  produced  can  possibly 
fancy  that  inspired  creation  means,  to  take  an 
example  from  literary  production,  the  dashing  off 
of  ideas  imder  the  dictation  of  the  passions  of  the 
moment,  without  ever  having  had  any  previous 
wrestling  with  the  subject.  For  most  it  is  a  hard 
grind,  and  even  for  the  chosen  few  whose  thoughts 
flow  freely  and  unhampered,  the  result  has  value 
only  if  it  is  the  issue  of  careful  analytical  study  of 
experience  in  the  past. 

The  greatest  Romanticists,  the  men  of  deep  and 
warm  emotional  natures,  who  have  advocated  a 
free  rein  to  the  passions,  perhaps  little  realized 
how  great  and  fundamental  a  factor  of  their  suc- 
cess was  the  intellectualizing  which  preceded  their 
final  effort.  Being  themselves  men  of  brains  as 
well  as  of  feeling,  they  could  not  appreciate  what 
effect  the  doctrine  they  preached  would  have  on 
those  less  happily  endowed,  but  their  sentimental 
disciples,  usually  inferior  both  intellectually  and 
artistically,  have  seen  therein  what  seemed  to 
their  puny  minds  an  easy  and  lucrative  form  of 
creative  production  and  have  invariably  seized 
the  opportunity  with  enthusiasm. 

The  lover  of  emotion  for  emotion's  sake  has 
been  enchantingly  described  by  Professor  J.  L. 
Lowes:  "Your  sentimentalist,  if  I  may  risk  a  most 
unsentimental  simile,  is  very  like  a  penny-in-the- 
slot  machine.     Let  nature  drop  in  a  sunset,  or 


INTELLECTUALISM  v.  EMOTIONALISM      9 

life  a  heart-throb,  there  is  a  little  click  and  a  poem 
drops  warm  and  soft  into  your  outstretched  hand. 
The  austere  requirements  of  clarity  of  imagery, 
of  precision  and  lucidity  of  thought,  of  compres- 
sion and  balanced  harmony,  of  form — these  trouble 
the  sentimentalist  not  a  whit.  All  that  is  neces- 
sary is  to  reach  out  into  an  atmosphere  of  rosy 
mist,  and  capture  the  first  nebulous  notion  that 
floats  into  one's  grasp. 

"If  it  is  the  pensive  tear  of  a  nightingale,  the 
absence  of  lachrymatory  glands  in  that  otherwise 
poetic  bird  is  beneath  the  notice  of  the  divine 
afflatus.  The  sentimentalist  escapes  the  stem 
travail  of  thought.  The  form  is  born  in  a  sort 
of  poetic  twilight  sleep. 

"*The  greatness  of  an  author*  wrote  George 
Henry  Lewes,  in  an  infinitely  suggestive  little 
book,  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature,  *  con- 
sists in  having  a  mind  extremely  irritable  and  at 
the  same  time  steadfastly  imperial.'  The  artist, 
in  other  words,  must  be  sensitive  and  receptive 
to  impressions,  alert  to  every  stimulus  from  within 
and  from  without,  beyond  the  capacity  of  ordinary 
men.  But  he  must  hold  an  imperial  sway  over  his 
impressions,  selecting,  clarifying,  ordering,  mould- 
ing, filing  and  refiling  them.'*  ^ 

We  may  speak  of  an  intuitive  response  in  any 
other  situation  in  life  and  the  same  condition  holds 
as  in  art.  The  expert  golfer  must  not  think  of 
what  he  should  do  while  driving  the  ball  or  the 

^  Convention  and  Revolt  in  Poetry,  pp.  324-328. 


10  INTRODUCTION 

result  will  be  disastrous.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
would  not  be  an  expert  if  he  had  not  given  years 
of  practice  to  the  game.  Or,  to  take  an  example 
from  the  more  intellectual  pursuit  of  chess.  There 
are  those  who  believe  that  mere  practice  is  suf- 
ficient, that  rules  hamper  the  spontaneity  of  play, 
yet  expert  players  assert  that  they  spend  much 
time  in  studying  the  plays  of  other  men,  in  making 
thoroughly  their  own  a  countless  number  of  differ- 
ent responses.  At  the  time  of  playing  they  are, 
for  the  most  part,  unconscious  of  the  results  of 
past  study  and  experience;  they  leave  themselves 
entirely  free  to  meet  the  situation  as  it  presents 
itself  and  apparently  guided  by  intuition,  they 
make  those  brilliant  moves  which  are  termed  the 
strokes  of  genius.  The  genius  so  called,  however, 
whether  in  chess,  in  art,  or  in  any  other  form  of 
activity,  achieves  the  more  valuable  results  the 
better  he  has  organized  his  past  experiences  and 
the  more  he  is  influenced  by  them.  If  we  glance 
through  the  history  of  art,  we  shall  find  that  those 
who  have  produced  the  most  enduring  works 
were  men  of  great  intellect  as  well  as  of  deep  feel- 
ing. Perhaps  one  of  the  best  examples  is  Leonardo 
da  Vinci,  who  excelled  in  science  as  well  as  in  art. 
With  him  as  with  others  of  the  immortals,  we  find 
that  there  was  always  a  balance  between  the  two 
sides  of  his  nature.  Great  art  has  not  been  pro- 
duced upon  a  purely  emotional  background,  nor 
upon  a  purely  intellectual  one.  The  latter  is  un- 
fortunately less  often  found  than  the  former,  but 


INTELLECTUALISM  v.  EMOTIONALISM    11 

given  a  great  intellect,  there  can  then  be  as  much 
of  the  emotional  side  as  even  the  extreme  Roman- 
ticist can  desire.  The  combination  is  rare,  but  so 
is  genius.* 

It  follows  from  the  above  that  a  definite  point 
of  view  and  an  intellectual  background  are  neces- 
sary for  the  perception  of  beauty,  as  is  the  case  in 
any  other  form  of  perception.  These  should  be 
supplied  by  a  study  of  aesthetic  problems  and  an 
application  of  the  results  to  actual  experience. 
Many  individuals  visit  picture  galleries  because 
they  feel  it  is  a  part  of  their  general  culture.  Many 
do  so  for  the  reason  that  they  have  become  the 
slaves  of  a  guide-book.  Together  with  these 
motives,  however,  there  is  a  certain  desire  to  enjoy 
the  pictures,  but  such  individuals  have  no  point 
of  approach  and  derive  little  else  than  a  sense  of 
great  fatigue.  Even  in  the  case  of  those  who  do 
find  a  certain  aesthetic  interest  in  pictures,  too 
frequently  an  ethical,  religious,  or  historical  rather 
than  an  aesthetic,  point  of  view  predominates  as 
is  illustrated  by  William  James,  who  describes 
seeing  an  old  couple  seated  reverently  before 
Titian's  Assumption,  in  the  cold  room  of  the 
Academy  at  Venice.  Upon  approaching  the  couple 
he  heard  the  woman  murmuring,  "What  self- 
abnegation  !  How  unworthy  she  feels  of  the  honor 
she  is  receiving."    And  James  adds,  "These  honest 

^  For  a  discussion  of  rational  thought  and  the  emotions  see  Irving  Babbitt's 
Rousseau  and  Romanticism,  especially  Chapter  IV  and  his  The  New  Laokodn, 
Chapter  IV;  also  W.  A.  Neilson's  The  Essentials  of  Poetry,  Chapter  IV. 


12  INTRODUCTION 

hearts  have  been  kept  warm  all  the  time  by  a  flow 
of  spurious  sentiment  that  would  have  fairly  made 
old  Titian  sick."  ^  It  should  be  possible  to  show 
the  difference  between  such  an  attitude  and  that 
of  true  aesthetic  enjoyment.  Obvious  though  it 
must  be  to  most,  it  is  often  necessary  to  explain 
that  such  facts  as  that  Charles  the  First  picked  up 
the  brush  of  Van  Dyke  when  it  was  dropped  by 
that  painter,  does  not  add  anything  to  the  aesthetic 
appreciation  of  the  portrait  of  the  sovereign,  for 
there  is  still  too  much  of  that  sort  of  information 
in  treatises  which  pretend  to  deal  with  beauty, 
but  which  actually  establish  attitudes  toward 
the  subject  that,  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  art 
lover,  would  interfere  with  a  true  appreciation. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  it  is  much  easier  to  gain 
the  interest  of  the  average  observer  by  anecdotes 
and  descriptions  which  touch  everyday  interests, 
yet  a  knowledge  of  the  important  problems  of  the 
artist,  as,  for  example,  the  difficulties  in  represent- 
ing pictorially  the  three  dimensions  of  space,  or  the 
intrinsic  value  of  rhythm  and  sound  in  literature, 
will  soon  open  up  for  the  individual  a  world  with 
which,  heretofore,  he  was  relatively  unfamiliar. 
In  other  words,  when  we  understand  why  the 
elements  in  a  work  of  art  are  arranged  in  one 
particular  way  rather  than  another,  and  fa- 
miliarize ourselves  with  the  nature  of  the  mental 
processes  or  adjustments  by  which  such  arrange- 
ments and  the  meaning  they  convey  are  appreci- 

•  Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  2,  p.  472. 


INTELLECTUALISM  v.  EMOTIONALISM    13 

ated  as  aesthetic  values,  we  shall  have  acquired  a 
background  which  will  supply  its  own  interests, 
and  an  attitude  which,  by  reason  of  its  clear  defini- 
tion, can  be  readily  assumed. 

It  should  be  the  function  of  a  treatise  on  aesthet- 
ics to  achieve  these  results.  That  is,  the  value  of 
aesthetics  should  be  pragmatic.  The  influence  of 
such  a  treatise  depends  upon  the  degree  to  which 
the  author  keeps  in  touch  with  the  practical  in- 
terests of  appreciator  and  producer. 

It  would  seem  as  if  a  study  of  aesthetics  were 
more  beneficial  to  the  appreciator  than  to  the 
artist,  for  the  latter  is  primarily  concerned  with 
the  technique  of  his  art  and  less  with  the  funda- 
mental laws  underlying  such  technique  or  with  an 
analysis  of  the  attitude  which  he  assumes  and  which 
he  quite  rightly  desires  to  be  entirely  spontaneous. 
We  have  just  seen,  however,  that  spontaneity 
may  follow  an  introspective  and  analytical  study, 
and,  furthermore,  the  artist  is,  at  one  stage  of  the 
creating  process,  both  artist  and  audience,  just 
as  the  audience  shares,  to  a  certain  degree,  the 
activity  of  the  artist.  In  both  cases  there  is  a  very 
definite  adjustment  of  the  organism  to  the  en- 
vironment, which  must  be  thoroughly  known  and 
differentiated  from  other  adjustments  which  the 
organism  undergoes  in  the  course  of  its  develop- 
ment. 


14  mTRODUCTION 

§3.  The    Philosophical,    Psychological    and 
Objective  Aspects  of  Beauty 

In  order  that  the  study  of  aesthetics  should  be 
complete,  three  aspects  must  be  kept  in  mind :  the 
philosophical,  psychological  and  what,  for  lack 
of  a  better  term,  we  may  call  the  objective.  It 
should  not  be  understood  by  this  that  there  are 
three  distinct  approaches  which  must,  at  all  times, 
be  kept  definitely  apart.  The  one  involves  the 
others,  so  that  a  constant  shifting  is  necessary. 
Any  attempt  to  keep  the  three  methods  of  ap- 
proach separate  would  appear  arbitrary  and  arti- 
ficial. In  other  words,  this  threefold  division  is  a 
pure  abstraction.^ 

Some  authors  have  dealt  with  only  one  or  two 
of  these  aspects.  Others  have  misplaced  the 
emphasis.  It  is  therefore  essential  to  describe 
them  briefly  and  to  show  the  relative  importance 
of  each. 

Philosophy  supplies  the  general  principles  under- 
lying aesthetics  in  the  same  manner  as  it  does  the 
hypotheses  of  other  sciences.  It  is  concerned 
above  all  with  the  ultimate  nature  of  beauty, 
and  the  method  of  obtaining  this  knowledge.  It 
is  further  concerned  with  the  relation  of  beauty 
to  the  other  values  of  life,  and  with  its  place  in 
human  experience.    For  example,  we  shall  see  that 

^  See  MUnsterberg's  Principles  of  Art  Education,  which  consists  of  three 
chapters,  entitled  respectively,  "Philosophy,"  "Psychology"  and  "Es- 
thetics." 


PHILOSOPHICAL  ASPECTS  OF  BEAUTY    15 

one  of  the  most  important  questions  in  art  ap- 
preciation is  that  of  the  influence  of  ethical  con- 
siderations; that  is,  should  art  exist  for  art's  sake, 
or  should  it  teach  a  moral;  in  other  words,  is  the 
pleasure  derived  from  ethical  presentation  as  such 
to  be  called  aesthetic  enjoyment?  Philosophy 
must  decide  whether  beauty  is  subjective,  that  is 
merely  a  creation  of  the  observer — something 
entirely  mental,  or  whether  it  is  objective,  and 
as  such  an  intrinsic  characteristic  of  the  object, 
and  if  the  latter,  whether  it  is  entirely  independent 
of  the  mind — an  attribute  of  things  which  would 
be  present  even  if  there  had  never  been  a  mind 
to  experience  it.  It  must  also  consider  whether 
these  are  the  only  possibilities.  In  solving  these 
problems,  there  is  obtained  an  idea  of  the  nature 
of  the  reality  of  beauty  and,  in  the  last  analysis, 
this  is  necessary  for  the  complete  understanding 
of  the  aesthetic  attitude.  Essential  as  is  the  philo- 
sophical approach  to  a  knowledge  of  beauty,  it 
has  unfortunately  too  often  served  as  the  only 
method.  Many  treatises  upon  beauty  have  been 
purely  philosophical,  and  have  left  the  reader 
with  a  system  of  vague  generalities  and  concepts 
which,  in  many  cases,  remain  undefined  in  terms 
of  actual  experience,  due  either  to  the  non-em- 
pirical character  of  the  philosopher's  attitude,  or 
because  of  the  belief  that  aesthetic  values  from 
their  very  nature  cannot  be  expressed  otherwise. 
In  consequence  of  this  a  certain  pleasure  has  been 
derived  from  the  clever  play  of  philosophical  ideas. 


16  INTRODUCTION 

but  little  has  been  offered  for  increasing  the  pleasur- 
able reaction  toward  objects  of  art.^ 

In  order  to  understand  clearly  the  distinction 
between  the  psychological  and  the  objective  as- 
pects, it  is  necessary  for  us  to  consider,  at  this 
point,  the  relation  of  the  observer  to  the  object 
appreciated,  although  a  more  complete  explana- 
tion of  the  terms,  and  especially  of  the  character- 
istics of  that  relation  which  is  termed  "aesthetic," 
must  be  postponed  to  a  later  chapter,  for  it  is 
the  peculiarity  of  that  situation  which  will  prin- 
cipally concern  us  in  defining  the  aesthetic  atti- 
tude. For  the  present,  there  will  merely  be  de- 
scribed superficially  the  reaction  of  an  individual 
to  a  work  of  art,  for  example,  a  visitor  to  a  gallery. 
It  is  evident  that  as  he  stands  before  a  picture,  his 
attitude  will  depend  upon  two  things — ^his  own 
state  of  mind,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  pig- 
ments upon  the  canvas  before  him.  This  entire 
situation  must  be  studied  if  we  are  to  know  the 
true  nature  of  this  relation  of  the  observer  to  the 
picture.  Psychology  must  analyse  the  behavior 
of  the  observer  in  so  far  as  the  peculiar  adjustment 
called  "aesthetics"  is  concerned;  and  on  the  ob- 
jective side  there  must  be  an  analysis  of  the  ar- 
rangement and  qualities  of  the  pigments  with  a 
view  to  their  effect  upon  the  adjustment  in  ques- 
tion.    In  order  to  know  how  various  colors  will 

*  The  Preface  to  Bosanquet's  History  of  Esthetics  begins  with  the  sentence: 
"iEsthetic  theory  is  a  branch  of  philosophy,  and  exists  for  the  sake  of  knowl- 
edge and  not  as  a  guide  to  practice." 


PHILOSOPHICAL  ASPECTS  OF  BEAUTY    17 

affect  the  eye,  certain  laws  of  color  vision  must  be 
known.  At  the  other  end  of  the  relation,  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  colors  that  produce  the  effect 
must  also  be  studied.  Again,  we  should  know  the 
possibilities  of  response  of  the  human  organism 
to  lines  and  proportions.  This  can  be  obtained 
both  by  observation  and  by  self -analysis  or  intro- 
spection. In  music  we  have  the  arrangement  of  the 
sounds  to  produce  certain  rhythms;  and  in  ar- 
chitecture the  arrangement  of  the  lines  and  spaces 
serve  the  same  purpose.  Our  knowledge  of  the 
aesthetic  value  of  these  arrangements  is  not  com- 
plete, however,  until  we  know  how  the  organism 
can  perceive  and  appreciate  them,  nor  without 
this  psychological  knowledge  can  we  know  why 
some  rhythms  are  pleasing  and  others  not.  We 
may  want  to  know  why  an  organism  responds 
differently  at  different  times  to  the  same  rhythm, 
and  it  is  again  to  psychology  that  we  must  turn 
for  an  explanation. 

In  the  representation  of  space  both  in  a  two 
dimensional  and  three  dimensional  form,  psy- 
chological factors  of  space  perception  are  involved, 
and  it  has  only  been  gradually  through  a  realiza- 
tion of  these  factors  that  an  adequate  representa- 
tion has  been  obtained.  One  of  the  most  important 
changes  in  art  development,  that  which  intro- 
duced impressionism,  had  its  source  in  a  recogni- 
tion of  the  mental  factors  in  the  perception  of 
things  as  distinguished  from  the  purely  objective 
situation.     Of  equal  importance  to  all  represen- 


18  INTRODUCTION 

tative  art  is  the  psychology  of  meaning,  especially 
the  manner  and  various  forms  by  which  the  mean- 
ing can  be  conveyed  to  the  mind;  and  in  connection 
with  this  as  with  most  of  the  other  problems,  there 
is  necessarily  an  understanding  of  the  role  of  un- 
conscious mechanisms.  Such  examples  can  be 
multiplied  many  times.  They  all  illustrate  the 
general  principle  that  any  given  aesthetic  attitude 
depends  both  upon  the  mental  laws  and  condition 
of  the  organism,  and  the  existing  objective  con- 
ditions. None  of  these  factors  can  be  neglected. 
There  is  also  a  constant  interaction  between  them — 
a  change  in  mental  attitude  produces  a  change  in 
the  art  object,  and  a  change  in  the  object  through 
some  external  necessity  frequently  produces  a 
change  in  the  mental  attitude. 

For  a  knowledge  of  art  production,  as  of  appre- 
ciation, the  psychological  conditions  are  more  im- 
portant. The  perceptual  processes  of  the  artist, 
including  the  role  of  memory  and  imagination, 
even  the  effect  of  fatigue  and  drugs,  are  subjects 
of  psychological  study.  In  fact,  the  ideal  goal 
should  be  to  determine  all  the  characteristics 
peculiar  both  to  aesthetic  appreciation  and  to  pro- 
duction. 

In  the  study  of  the  history  of  art,  we  have  also 
the  twofold  analysis.  Hand  in  hand  with  the  in- 
vestigation of  the  change  in  art  forms  should  go 
that  of  the  development  of  the  organism,  for  the 
genetic  aspect  of  mind  cannot  be  neglected  if  we 
are  to  understand  thoroughly  the  changes  that 


PHILOSOPHICAL  ASPECTS  OF  BEAUTY    19 

have  taken  place  in  art.  It  is  also,  in  this  con- 
nection, useful  to  know  the  effects  of  climate  and 
country,  both  upon  the  artist  and  upon  the  art 
form,  for  the  latter  as  well  as  the  former,  is  fre- 
quently influenced  by  customs  and  environments, 
for  example,  many  of  the  forms  of  Egyptian 
designs  are  perpetual  evidence  of  the  dominant 
part  the  Nile  has  played  in  the  life  of  the  Egyp- 
tians.* 

It  is  not  intended  at  this  point  to  give  a  detailed 
list  of  the  psychological  problems  but  merely  a  few 
examples  to  show  the  necessity  and  importance  of 
such  study.  On  the  other  hand,  it  should  be  recog- 
nized that  psychological  analysis  does  not  furnish 
all  of  the  data  necessary,  nor  should  the  facts 
obtained  be  overestimated  as  has  frequently  been 
done,  for  there  is  the  same  danger  of  overempha- 
sizing psychology  as  there  is  of  attaching  too  much 
importance  to  a  strictly  philosophical  treatment. 
For  example,  in  the  study  of  the  enjoyment  of 
music,  it  may  be  useful  for  the  understanding  of 
certain  aspects  of  that  enjoyment  to  have  an  enu- 
meration and  description  of  the  bodily  sensations 
during  such  an  experience,  but  such  an  enumera- 
tion cannot  entirely  satisfy  one  who  is  making 
an  aesthetic  study  of  music.  The  extreme  has  been 
reached  in  books  such  as  Grant  Allen's  Physiologi- 
cal Msthetics,  where  one  learns  about  nerve  actions 
and  the  psychology  of  pleasure  and  pain  in  general, 
but  is  left  in  ignorance  regarding  most  of  the  prob- 

^  See  L.  M.  Phillipps'  Art  and  Environment. 


20  INTRODUCTION 

lems  of  aesthetic  enjoyment  which  have  true  prag- 
matic value,  especially  that  of  the  essential  differ- 
ence between  the  aesthetic  attitude  and  other 
forms  of  pleasurable  reactions.  More  will  be  said 
upon  this  point  when  we  come  to  the  general  sub- 
ject of  pleasure.  A  psycho-physiological  book  of 
such  a  nature  has  value,  in  that  it  describes  cer- 
tain phases  of  the  general  problem,  but  in  itself 
it  brings  the  reader  very  little  closer  to  beauty. 

As  regards  the  objective  treatment,  namely,  the 
study  of  the  arrangements  embodied  in  the  ob- 
ject of  enjoyment  which  produces  various  aesthetic 
effects,  little  explanation  is  necessary.  The  danger 
here  has  been  to  under-,  rather  than  to  over-estimate 
its  importance,  and  this  is  one  of  the  chief  causes 
of  the  frequently  non-empirical  character  of  aesthet- 
ics. In  modern  times,  however,  it  has  been  recog- 
nized that  slight  differences  in  arrangement  are 
of  great  importance  to  the  aesthetic  attitude,  for 
example,  in  the  framing  and  placing  of  pictures, 
in  the  isolation  of  statues  from  their  surroundings, 
and  in  the  scenic  arrangement  of  the  drama — ^to 
mention  only  a  few  well-known  instances. 

§  4.  The  ^Esthetic  Appreciation  of  Nature 

A  study  of  aesthetics  should  include  painting, 
the  industrial  arts,  sculpture,  architecture,  liter- 
ature, the  drama,  including  certain  factors  of  the 
comic  and  tragic,  music,  dancing,  and  natural 
beauty;  in  short,  it  is  concerned  with  the  aesthetic 
attitude  wherever  it  is  found.     The  fields  of  in- 


.ESTHETIC  APPRECIATION  OF  NATURE    21 

quiiy  just  mentioned  are  accepted  by  most  aesthe- 
ticians.  The  inclusion  of  natural  beauty,  however, 
has  at  times  led  to  misunderstanding  and  requires 
further  explanation.  Professor  Sully  has  stated 
that  "Some  contemplation  and  appreciation  of 
the  beautiful  aspects  of  nature  is  not  only  prior  in 
time  to  art,  but  is  a  condition  of  its  genesis.  The 
enjoyment  of  the  pleasing  aspects  of  land  and  sea, 
of  mountain  and  dale,  of  the  innumerable  organic 
forms,  has  steadily  grown  with  the  development  of 
culture;  and  this  growth,  though  undoubtedly 
aided  by  that  of  the  feeling  for  art — especially 
painting  and  poetry — is  to  a  large  extent  indepen- 
dent of  it.  "*  Some,  however,  have  not  considered 
that  natural  beauty  is  an  aesthetic  object  in  the 
same  sense  as  a  work  of  art.  For  example,  it  has 
been  stated  that  the  pleasure  in  viewing  a  marble 
group  of  a  wrestling  match  is  altogether  different 
from  that  obtained  in  witnessing  the  actual  struggle 
in  the  ring.  It  probably  is,  but  it  is  not  neces- 
sarily so,  as  will  be  shown  later.  The  misunder- 
standing has  arisen  in  part  from  a  false  distinction 
between  natural  beauty  and  a  work  of  art,  namely, 
that  in  the  appreciation  of  the  one  we  have  a  sense 
of  illusion  that  is  absent  in  the  other.  ^  In  the  first 
place,  this  is  not  true.  The  sense  of  illusion  may 
not  be  present  in  either  case,  or  it  may  be  present 
in  both.    The  real  distinction,  if  there  happens  to 

^Article  on  "Esthetics"  in  the  Enq/clopedia  Britannica,  11th  edition, 
p.  281.    See  also  E.  F.  Carritt's  The  Theory  of  Beauty,  pp.  35  et  seq. 
*  Konrad  Lange,  Das  Weaen  der  Kunst,  Vol.  I,  pp.  82  et  seq. 


22  INTRODUCTION 

be  any,  must  be  sought  in  the  attitude  of  the 
observer  rather  than  in  the  object  of  contempla- 
tion. 

It  has  also  been  asserted  that  man  is  not  aesthet- 
ically active  in  regard  to  nature;  that  he  is  given 
no  opportunity  to  show  his  creative  ability  and 
artistic  talent.  The  truth  is  that  the  mind  is 
usually  more  active  in  a  creative  sense  in  the  ap- 
preciation of  nature  than  in  the  enjoyment  of  a 
finished  work  of  art.  In  the  latter  case,  certain 
definite  and  fixed  arrangements  are  presented, 
which  one  is  supposed  to  accept,  while  in  the  ap- 
preciation of  nature,  one  is  left  relatively  free  to 
form  one's  own  combinations. 

In  every  perception,  there  is  a  selection  of  cer- 
tain parts  of  our  environment  to  the  exclusion  of 
others.  We  perceive  those  things  to  which  we 
are  especially  adapted  and  this  adaptation  de- 
pends in  large  part  upon  our  own  nature.  It  is 
not  necessary  that  everything  that  is  before  us 
should  be  perceived.  Suppose  that  several  men 
are  tramping  through  the  fields.  One  of  them  will 
perceive  a  group  of  oak  trees  with  green  leaves 
outlined  distinctly  against  the  sky,  a  flock  of  sheep, 
a  ragged  shepherd,  and  perhaps  a  rising  moon.  The 
objects  stand  out  in  minute  detail  and  sharp  re- 
lief. He  does  not  actually  see  them  in  this  way, 
but  his  imagination  supplies  for  his  perception  a 
memory  picture  of  them  as  he  has  previously  per- 
ceived them  under  conditions  more  favorable  for 
revealing  their  true  outlines.     Another,  viewing 


iESTHETIC  APPRECIATION  OF  NATURE    23 

the  same  scene,  will  perceive  the  oaks,  but  the 
leaves  melt  softly  into  the  gray  sky,  and  instead 
of  a  group  of  sheep  standing  out  separate  and  dis- 
tinct, he  will  perceive  an  irregular  brown-colored 
mass  and  over  all  a  cloud  of  dust  which  tints  the 
atmosphere  and  veils  the  scene  in  mystery.  The 
perception  in  the  second  case  may,  with  a  slight 
stretching  of  the  term,  be  called  a  work  of  art, 
and  if  the  observer  is  skilled  in  the  technique  and 
the  power  of  expression  he  can  reproduce  it  as 
he  has  seen  it  and  to  a  certain  extent  enjoy  his 
own  aesthetic  reaction.  Indeed,  it  seems  hardly 
necessary  to  add  that  the  study  of  the  apprecia- 
tion of  natural  beauty  is  necessary  if  we  are  to 
understand  the  first  stage  of  artistic  creation.  It 
is  in  such  contemplation  that  the  artist  and  ap- 
preciator  are  one. 

The  creative  art  impulse  is  present  when,  as  so 
frequently  happens,  we  neglect  this  object  and 
include  that  in  our  perception,  in  order  to  obtain 
a  more  pleasing  impression,  when  we  relate  groups 
that  have  no  objective  bonds,  thus  achieving  a 
higher  unity,  and  obeying  the  essential  rule  for 
true  aesthetic  composition.  It  is  not  mere  chance 
that  in  our  half -dreamy  contemplation  of  a  land- 
scape we  are  entirely  oblivious  of  the  distracting 
features.  Our  actual  perception  depends  upon  our 
momentary  mood,  upon  the  nature  of  our  adjust- 
ment at  the  time.  If  we  are  worried  over  some 
insistent  problem,  it  is  possible  for  us  to  walk 
through  a  wood  without  a  single  aesthetic  reaction 


24  INTRODUCTION 

— through  the  same  wood  that  had  previously 
seemed  an  object  of  ravishing  beauty. 

Although  our  attitude  toward  the  world  is  con- 
stantly changing  it  is  an  important  fact  that  the 
particular  adjustment  called  sesthetic  can,  through 
practice,  become  a  dominant  one.  The  poet, 
the  painter,  the  musician,  come  more  and  more  to 
abstract  from  their  surroundings  those  features 
only  which  pertain  to  their  special  arts  until, 
eventually,  the  world  means,  for  them,  a  harmony 
of  colors,  shapes,  sounds  and  rhythms.  The  sea 
reflects  the  light  and  shade  of  human  passions. 
The  song  of  the  birds  appeals  to  the  tenderest 
emotions.  The  sound  of  words  has  value  for  its 
own  sake,  and  even  the  tap  of  the  stone-cutter's 
hammer  or  the  clatter  of  tired  horses '  feet  becomes 
the  motive  for  some  vital  theme. 

An  example  of  the  change  in  perception  accord- 
ing to  the  attitude  of  the  observer  will  make  clear 
what  is  meant  by  the  influence  of  thought  and 
mood  and  individual  characteristics  upon  the 
object  of  sesthetic  pleasure,  for  it  is  to  the  laws  of 
perception  that  we  must  turn  for  the  fundamental 
facts  necessary  to  an  understanding  of  both  ap- 
preciation and  creation. 

If  we  observe  the  horizontal  and  the  perpendic- 
ular lines  comprising  Figure  1,  we  notice  that  they 
form  different  figures  according  to  the  direction 
of  our  attention.  We  can  perceive  a  square  divided 
into  25  smaller  squares,  every  square  bearing  the 
same  relation  to  every   other  square.     Or,   still 


.ESTHETIC  APPRECIATION  OF  NATURE    25 

observing  Figure  1,  we  can  perceive  a  central 
cross  as  indicated  in  Figure  2,  or  a  diagonal  cross 
as  in  Figure  3.  We  can  even  perceive  differences 
of  depth  in  Figure  1,  if  we  set  ourselves  to  perceive 
them.^  The  squares,  for  example,  which  form  the 
cross,  may  appear  to  lie  closer  to  the  observer  than 
the  other  squares.  They  may  also  seem  larger 
than  the  others.  Many  other  combinations  can 
be  made,  and  as  the  object  has  remained  the  same. 


Pig.  1 


II I  I     I     I     '    I 


Fia.2 


Fig.  3 


it  will  be  readily  granted  that  the  difference  has 
depended  entirely  upon  the  attitude  of  the  ob- 
server, or  to  use  a  less  technical  term,  upon  what 
the  observer  desires  to  see.  We  can  observe  the 
same  process  at  work,  in  more  complicated  situa- 
tions, such  as  solving  picture  puzzles.  When  we 
are  directed  to  find  a  hidden  figure  we  can  per- 
ceive a  system  of  lines,  either  as  the  leaves  of  an 
oak  tree,  or  as  the  outline  of  a  boy. 

Ordinarily,  in  perception  we  are  not  aware  of  the 
role  that  our  own  attitude  or  personality  plays, 
for  the  reason  that  we  are  concerned  chiefly  with 
the  meaning  which  has  been  conveyed,  the  form 

» Figures  2  and  3  represent  the  perceptions  we  obtain  when  viewing  Figure 
1  under  these  different  directions  of  attention. 


26  INTRODUCTION 

as  actually  perceived  acting  merely  as  a  symbol 
for  the  meaning  reaction,  and  being  in  itself  of 
little  importance  to  us.  Such  an  analysis  may  seem 
to  some  too  materialistic  a  manner  of  describing 
the  underlying  process  of  what  they  may  prefer 
to  call  the  response  of  the  soul  to  the  beauties  of 
nature.  The  subjective  aspect  of  the  beauty  of 
things  has  not  escaped  the  artists,  who  have  ex- 
pressed the  idea  in  more  poetic  though  less  scientific 
terms. 

"They  have  no  song,  the  sedges  dry. 

And  still  they  sing. 
It  is  within  my  heart  they  sing. 

As  I  pass  by. 

Within  my  breast  they  touch  a  string. 

They  wake  a  sigh. 
There  is  but  sound  of  sedges  dry; 

In  me  they  sing."  ^ 

To  those  who  have  not  a  preconceived  theory 
concerning  art  a  defense  of  the  study  of  natural 
beauty  will  seem,  to  some  extent  at  least,  super- 
fluous. For  some,  indeed,  nature  is  the  only  ob- 
ject that  arouses  an  aesthetic  emotion,  and  it 
seems  false,  at  least  from  a  psychological  point 
of  view,  to  hold  that  such  pleasure  differs  from 
that  obtained  from  the  contemplation  of  a  picture 
or  symphony.  It  is  true,  however,  that  our  re- 
sponses   to    nature    are    more    frequently    non- 

*  George  Meredith,  "  Song  of  the  Songless." 


ESTHETIC  APPRECIATION  OF  NATURE    27 

aesthetic  than  aesthetic,  owing  to  the  urgency  of 
the  practical  demands  of  life.  The  difference  be- 
tween these  two  attitudes  toward  things  about  us, 
whether  natural  or  artificial,  will  form  the  main 
thesis  of  this  book. 


CHAPTER  n 
THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

§  1.  Definition  of  ^Esthetics 

There  is  considerable  difference  of  opinion  re- 
garding the  definition  of  aesthetics.  While  most 
definitions  contain  at  least  a  germ  of  truth,  they 
all  too  often  indicate  either  a  certain  confusion  in 
the  author's  mind,  or  what  is  worse,  an  a  priori 
conception  of  the  nature  of  beauty. 

A  frequently  seen  definition  is  that  aesthetics 
is  a  philosophy  of  beauty.  It  has  been  shown  in 
the  last  chapter  that  the  philosophical  is  only  one 
of  the  three  necessary  approaches,  if  one  would 
have  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  the  subject. 
If  it  happens  to  be  the  sole  treatment,  the  study 
will  remain  abstract  and  frequently  non-empiri- 
cal. Instead  of  starting  from  experience,  such  an 
aesthetics  begins  with  an  ideal  concept  deduced 
from  some  higher  principle,  and  attempts  to  force 
beauty  into  the  mold  thus  formed.  By  way  of 
illustrating  such  a  method,  the  following  example 
may  be  supposed:  beautiful  objects  are  a  part  of 
the  Divine  Spirit,  which  is  non-spatial  in  char- 
acter: it  follows  that  all  beautiful  objects  must  be 
non-spatial.  Music  can  therefore  be  included 
in  that  category,  but  fine  arts  must  be  banished 
from    the    realm    of    beauty;    which    conclusion 


DEFINITION  OF  .ESTHETICS  29 

is  palpably  absurd,  though  entirely  consistent 
with  the  theory.  It  is  the  form  of  approach 
which  is  sometimes  to  be  found  in  other  fields, 
such  as  government,  where  it  has  been  main- 
tained by  some  that  it  is  in  the  nature  of  a  State 
that  it  cannot  commit  suicide,  and  that  there- 
fore a  State  is  justified  in  employing  every  pos- 
sible means  for  its  self-preservation.  This  a  priori 
form  of  aesthetics  has  been  termed  by  Fechner 
an  aesthetics  "from  above"  in  contrast  to  aesthet- 
ics *'  from  below. "  ^  The  latter  deals  with  the  facts 
as  they  are  discoverable  in  experience  and  from 
these  it  deduces  its  laws.  This  is  the  method  of 
science  and  there  is  nothing  in  the  nature  of  beauty 
that  precludes  such  treatment. 

In  truth,  the  ideal  of  aesthetics  should  be  a  vigor- 
ously scientific  one,  if  it  is  to  keep  in  touch  with 
reality  and  serve  the  needs  of  those  who  are 
searching  for  a  wider  experience.  Experiments 
may  be  conducted  in  aesthetics  just  as  in  any  other 
science — a  fact  which  Fechner  pointed  out  in 
1871.2  Prom  the  data  gathered  in  this  way,  as 
well  as  from  the  study  of  works  of  art,  from  the 
biographies  and  autobiographies  of  artists,  from 
anthropological  investigations,  from  the  history 
of  art,  and  from  the  psychology  of  appreciation, 

^  Vorschide  der  /Esthetik,  p.  1. 

2  Fechner  published  data  from  experiments  in  sesthetics  in  his  article 
"Ueber  die  Frage  des  Goldnen  Schnittes"  in  Weigels  Archiv  in  1865,  but  it 
was  not  until  1871  that  he  discussed,  in  his  "Zur  Experimentalen  .^thetik," 
the  general  application  of  experimental  methods  in  aesthetics  (yorachule  der 
Esthetik,  p.  5). 


30    THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

etc.,  the  various  laws  can  be  deduced.  In  this 
way,  certain  rules  are  obtained  which  aid  the  de- 
velopment of  art,  or  act  as  guides  for  the  appre- 
ciation of  beauty. 

It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  these 
rules  or  norms  have  been  deduced  from  a  limited 
number  of  facts,  and  must  be  changed  if  they 
cease  to  correspond  to  reality.  They  are  neither 
more  nor  less  absolute  than  are  any  other  generali- 
zations from  the  facts  of  nature,  which  at  best 
remain  tentative  and  subject  to  change.  We  should 
aim,  therefore,  to  obtain  definite  and  established 
rules,  that  is,  reliable  generalizations  as  against 
a  priori  rules  on  the  one  extreme  and  an  accumula- 
tion and  enumeration  of  isolated  facts  on  the  other, 
which  at  best  must  leave  the  mind  in  a  state  of 
bewilderment.  In  other  words,  we  cannot  assert 
dogmatically  that  art  must  develop  in  this  or  that 
way.  Experience  has  shown  that  art  will  not  be 
commanded,  that  it  bends  to  no  dogmatism.  One 
cannot  even  agree  with  the  aesthetician  who  states 
that  '*  Philosophy  must  lay  down  what  Beauty  has 
to  do,"  even  though  it  is  added  that  "psychology 
must  deal  with  the  various  means  through  which 
this  end  is  to  be  reached."  ^  There  are  some  laws, 
however,  which  are  founded  upon  such  fundamental 
facts  of  the  human  mind  that  they  can  be  con- 
sidered, for  practical  purposes,  firmly  established. 
For  example,  it  does  seem  from  what  we  know  of 
perception  that  its  chief  characteristic  is  unifica- 

1  PuflFer,  Psychology  of  Beauty,  pp.  37-38. 


DEFINITION  OF  .ESTHETICS  31 

tion.  It  is  through  this  unification  of  the  object, 
this  relating  of  its  parts  one  to  another,  that  it  is 
grasped  by  the  mind.  There  is  in  this  an  economy 
of  effort  which  is  essential  to  mental  development. 
Therefore,  it  is  reasonable  to  expect  that  an  ar- 
rangement of  the  elements  of  an  object  of  con- 
templation which  aids  this  unification  will  meet  the 
requirements  of  the  mind  better  and  be  more  ac- 
ceptable than  an  arrangement  which  does  not  do 
so.  Unity  can,  therefore,  be  considered  a  firmly 
established  principle  of  beauty.  However,  such 
a  general  law  as  this  must  be  very  carefully  applied, 
for  it  is  found  that  under  certain  conditions  and  in 
order  to  produce  certain  effects,  what  seems  to 
be  somewhat  less  than  the  highest  degree  of  unity 
is  demanded.  It  may  even  happen  that  the  human 
mind  will  change  in  its  future  development,  and 
that  unity  will  no  longer  be  essential.  If  so,  one 
will  see  art  forms  change  in  spite  of  laws.  It  will 
also  be  shown  later  that  psychology  has  discovered 
certain  laws  in  regard  to  the  communication  of 
ideas.  So  long  as  art  desires  to  communicate  and 
so  long  as  these  laws  of  mind  hold,  art  will  have  to 
conform  to  them. 

These  examples  have  been  given  to  show  both 
that  there  is  in  aesthetics  a  certain  background 
for  prophecy  as  to  the  permanency  of  modem 
movements  in  art  and  that  there  are  practical 
rules  for  the  control  of  our  own  artistic  develop- 
ment in  creation.  Our  prophecies  are  also  made 
more    reliable    and    our    control    over    ourselves 


32    THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

strengthened  by  a  knowledge  of  the  reason  for 
changes  when  such  occur,  and  of  the  causes  funda- 
mental to  the  formulation  of  rules.  The  purely 
inductive  nature  of  such  knowledge,  however,  can- 
not be  too  much  emphazised  if  aesthetics  is  to 
remain  a  living  science.  Many  rules  which  had 
seemed  inviolable  have  been  deserted  by  art,  as 
for  instance,  the  neglect  of  the  canon  of  unity  of 
time  in  the  drama,  and  yet  the  enjoyment  has 
been  as  great  if  not  greater.  Conditions  have 
changed.  New  experiences  have  been  introduced, 
and  the  mind  having  become  accustomed  to  a  new 
adjustment,  has  ceased  to  find  such  unity  a  sine 
qua  non  of  aesthetic  enjoyment,  in  fact  at  times 
has  welcomed  its  infraction. 

To  repeat,  it  should  be  the  legitimate  aim  of 
aesthetics  to  generalize  and  to  use  "the  results  of 
such  generalization  as  a  guide,  but  the  rules  thus 
obtained  must  be  continually  tested  in  experience, 
and  altered  according  to  the  conditions  thus  found. 
In  actual  practice,  it  is  found  that  there  is  an 
interplay  between  the  rules  and  aesthetic  develop- 
ment. The  rules  are  the  conservative  forces 
which  at  times  guide  that  development,  but  which 
in  turn  are  changed  by  it. 

This  view  of  the  nature  of  rules  is  the  same  as 
that  held  in  modern  ethics,  which  considers  the 
laws  of  conduct  not  as  divine  and  unalterable  and 
to  which  all  action  must  submit,  but  as  a  result  of 
the  play  of  human  forces,  as  generalizations  from 
existing  conditions,  and  only  of  value  in  so  far 


DEFINITION  OF  .ESTHETICS  33 

as  they  recognize  the  needs  of  the  race  as  shown  by 
the  race's  own  development.  The  similarity  be- 
tween ethics  and  aesthetics  in  this  respect  is  il- 
luminating, because  both  have  been  considered 
at  times  normative  sciences.  "Thou  shalt"  and 
"Duty  must"  were  the  patterns  upon  which  the 
rules  were  shaped.  As  the  rules  have  just  been 
described  above,  however,  they  conform  to  the 
modern  conception  of  science  and  should  be  con- 
sidered a  part  of  it. 

Assuming  then  that  aesthetics  is  a  science  rather 
than  a  philosophy,  it  remains  for  us  to  determine 
the  subject  of  the  science.  Professor  Sully  has 
written  that  aesthetics  is  "a  branch  of  study  va- 
riously defined  as  the  philosophy  or  science  of  the 
beautiful,  of  taste  or  of  fine  arts."  ^  "Taste"  is  a 
very  broad  term.  It  emphasizes  the  subjective  or 
purely  psychological  side  of  beauty,  is  ambiguous, 
and  omits  the  creative  act.  "The  fine  arts"  is  too 
limiting  in  its  meaning,  and  even  if  used  in  its 
broadest  sense  it  neglects  nature  and  the  act  of 
appreciation.  "Beauty"  is  the  term  most  fre- 
quently used,  and  is  best  suited  to  cover  what 
is  considered  in  this  treatise  the  subject  of 
study. 

The  definition  which  seems  to  be  most  in  accord 
with  the  present  treatise  is  that  by  Sir  Sidney  Col- 
vin  which  states  that  "the  name  aesthetics  is  in- 
tended to  designate  a  scientific  doctrine  or  ac- 
count of  beauty,  in  natm-e  and  art,  and  of  the 

^  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  11th  edition,  article  on  ".^Isthetics." 


34    THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

faculty  for  enjoying  and  for  originating  beauty 
which  exists  in  man. "  ^ 

If  only  the  term  "beauty"  is  used,  however, 
the  fact  might  be  overlooked  that  its  opposite, 
ugliness,  involves  to  an  equal  degree  the  aesthetic 
attitude,  and  should  therefore  be  expressed  rather 
than  merely  implied  in  the  definition. ^  The  defini- 
tion of  aesthetics  may  therefore  be  briefly  stated  as 
the  science  of  beauty  and  ugliness.  The  aim  of  this 
treatise  will  be  to  put  meaning  behind  these  terms. 

§  2.  Pleasure  and  Pain 

A  mistake  that  has  frequently  been  made  is  to 
identify  beauty  and  ugliness  with  pleasure  and 
pain.  That  beauty  does  give  pleasure  and  ugli- 
ness pain  cannot  be  denied.  The  mistake  lies  in 
calling  all  pleasure  aesthetic  pleasure.  Yet  there 
are  psychologists  who  have  considered  that  they 
were  dealing  with  aesthetics  as  soon  as  they  com- 
menced a  chapter  upon  pleasure  or  an  experi- 
ment upon  the  affective  states. 

Dr.  Marshall  thinks  "that  aesthetics  may  with 
propriety  be  considered  as  a  branch  of  hedonics; 
as  being  dependent  directly  upon  pleasure  laws 
and  indirectly  therefore  upon  the  laws  of  pain."  ^ 
Consequently  he  devotes  the  greater  part  of  his 
book  to  a  description  of  the  physical  basis  of 
pleasure  and  pain.    He  does  not,  however,  fall  into 

*  Encyclopedia  Britannica,  9th  edition,  article  on  "Fine  Arts." 
*Lipps  writes  (jEsthetik,  vol.  1,  p.  6):  "The  study  of  beauty  involves  a 
study  of  its  counterpart,  ugliness." 

'  Pain,  Pleasure  and  Msthetics,  p.  299. 


PLEASURE  AND  PAm  35 

the  error  of  believing  that  all  pleasures  are  aesthetic, 
for  according  to  him  'That  object  is  to  be  con- 
sidered beautiful  which  produces  a  psychosis 
that  is  permanently  pleasurable  in  revival.  Each 
pleasure  may  form  an  element  of  impression  in  an 
aesthetic  complex;  but  only  those  pleasures  are 
judged  to  be  aesthetic  which  (relatively  speaking) 
are  permanently  pleasurable  in  memory,  the  non- 
aesthetic,  so-called,  pleasures  of  memory  being 
merely  pleasures  in  name,  psychoses  non-pleasur- 
able in  themselves  in  revival,  but  to  which,  for 
one  reason  or  another,  the  word  'pleasure*  still 
clings."^  It  is  quite  probable  that  those  of  ar- 
tistic tastes  through  their  great  interest  in  beauty 
find  that  pleasure  which  is  derived  from  objects 
of  art  is  more  lasting  than  other  pleasures,  but 
there  is  considerable  individual  variation  in  this 
regard.  Undoubtedly  there  are  those  who  will 
insist  that  the  pleasure  caused  by  the  news  of 
some  great  success  is  more  permanent  than  that 
derived  from  a  picture,  and  yet,  unless  we  desire 
to  argue  ex  definitione,  as  Dr.  Marshall  does,  in 
the  last  part  of  the  sentence  just  quoted,  we  can 
hardly  deny  that  they  obtain  some  idea,  although 
perhaps  a  very  slight  one,  of  the  beauty  of  pictures. 
Most  writers  have  like  Dr.  Marshall  attempted 
some  differentiation  of  aesthetic  pleasure  from  mere 
sensuous  pleasure.  One  of  the  frequent  and  very 
superficial  distinctions  is  that  between  the  so- 
called  lower  and  higher  senses.    Such  a  theory  as- 

1  O-p.  cit.,  p.  110.    (Italics  in  original  have  been  omitted.) 


86    THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

serts  that  one  enjoys  aesthetically  the  impressions 
which  one  receives  through  the  eye  and  ear,  and  sen- 
suously those  which  are  received  through  the  nose, 
mouth,  and  skin.  It  is  a  fact  that  we  are  more  likely 
to  be  aesthetically  moved  through  the  enjoyment  of 
a  picture  than  through  the  pleasure  derived  from 
the  touch  of  certain  fabrics,  or  the  taste  blends 
of  a  meal,  for  reasons  that  will  be  explained  later, 
but  it  must  be  insisted  upon  that  the  latter  may 
have  an  aesthetic  quality,  and  in  fact  does  have 
more  frequently  than  some  like  to  admit,  who  are 
influenced  by  a  certain  odium  which  has  attached 
itself  for  various  reasons  to  what  is  experienced 
through  these  lower  senses.  Because  certain  of 
these  experiences  are  considered  vulgar,  they  have 
all  fallen  in  the  scale  of  values.  It  would  indeed 
make  the  problem  simpler  if  it  were  agreed  that 
all  pleasures  are  aesthetic  that  are  experienced 
through  the  higher  senses.  It  would  then  only 
be  necessary  to  ask  whether  the  experience  was  one 
of  pleasure  or  pain,  and  what  senses  were  involved. 
If  for  example,  we  were  puzzled  as  to  whether  we 
were  maintaining  a  truly  aesthetic  attitude  toward 
a  picture,  we  should  merely  have  to  ask  whether 
it  gave  us  pleasure;  if  so,  the  attitude  could  be 
called  an  aesthetic  one.  This  solution  probably 
satisfies  some  persons.  It  does  not,  however, 
enable  us  to  decide  the  aesthetic  values  of  various 
forms  of  the  drama,  the  effect  of  violent  emotions 
in  the  appreciation  of  art,  the  function  of  realism, 
the  relation  of  content  and  form,  and  a  multitude 


PLEASURE  AND  PAIN  37 

of  similar  questions  which  are  involved  in  the 
fundamental  problem  of  the  nature  of  beauty.  It 
would  be  a  clear-cut  definition  and  easy  of  appli- 
cation, but  a  very  dull  instrument  for  the  pur- 
pose, and  of  as  much  practical  value  as  is  Kant's 
categorical  imperative  in  ethics  and  jurisprudence. 

Grant  Allen,  who  has  limited  aesthetic  pleasure 
to  the  higher  senses,  has  given  an  ingenious  reason 
for  so  doing.  He  maintains  that  aesthetic  pleasure 
is  the  result  of  normal  activity  "not  directly  con- 
nected with  life-serving  functions  of  the  nervous 
system."  ^  The  lower  senses  are  connected  with 
these  functions,  therefore,  they  cannot  transmit 
an  aesthetic  experience,  although  he  suggests  that 
there  is  "a  faint  approach  to  the  aesthetic  level 
in  tastes  of  the  pure  gustatory  class,  the  sweets 
and  the  bitters."  Before  passing  to  the  main 
criticism  it  should  be  remarked  that  it  is  impossible 
to  understand  the  meaning  of  "faint  approach." 
An  experience  is  either  aesthetic  or  not  aesthetic. 
There  is  no  third  possibility. 

We  shall  see  later  the  role  that  such  life-serving 
functions  play  in  disturbing  the  aesthetic  attitude, 
but  it  must  be  asked  whether  they  always  have 
to  be  a  disturbing  factor,  and — what  is  pertinent 
to  the  present  discussion — whether  life-serving 
functions  are  limited  to  the  lower  senses.  When 
one  enters  a  picture  gallery  after  the  fatigue  and 
worry  of  a  busy  day  and  is  transported  into  an- 
other world,  as  it  is  so  frequently  termed,  can  one 

1  Physiological  ^Esthetics,  p.  34. 


38    THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

dogmatically  state  that  tlie  glow  of  pleasure, 
quickening  of  the  pulse,  and  change  in  breathing 
are  not  life-giving?  Yet  the  impression  is  through 
the  eye;  so  that  one  is  in  the  predicament  of  having 
to  decide  whether  it  is  an  aesthetic  pleasure  because 
it  is  a  visual  one,  or  non-aesthetic  because  it  is 
life-serving.  Attention  should  also  be  called  to 
the  fact,  if  the  objection  is  raised  that  Allen  did 
not  mean  life-giving  in  the  sense  used  above,  that 
many  of  the  experiences  obtained  through  the 
lower  senses,  as  for  example,  olfactory  and  mus- 
cular sensations,  are  even  less  life-giving  than  the 
reaction  to  pictures. 

Lange  has  pointed  out  *  that  we  cannot  use 
this  distinction  between  the  senses  as  our  criterion 
for  beauty,  inasmuch  as  we  experience  pleasure 
from  many  things  perceived  visually  which  we 
should  not  call  artistic.  He  also  rightfully  main- 
tains that  the  arousal  of  pleasure  is  not  in  itself 
a  criterion  of  a  work  of  art,  and  that  the  real  dis- 
tinction must  be  sought  in  the  mental  processes 
accompanying  such  pleasure.  His  main  criterion, 
namely  that  of  illusion,  will  be  criticised  later. 
He  is  particularly  interesting  at  this  point  as  an 
instance  of  that  class  of  aestheticians  which  assigns 
more  importance  to  distinguishing  objects  which 
afford  higher  or  aesthetic  pleasure  from  those  which 
produce  a  lower  form  of  enjoyment,  than  to  an 
analysis  of  the  total  aesthetic  attitude.  The  danger 
in  the  method  of  such  writers  is  that  in  classifying 

'  Daa  Wesen  der  Kunst,  Vol.  I,  p.  73. 


ATTITUDES  TOWARD  ENVIRONMENT    39 

this  experience  as  aesthetic  and  that  as  non- 
aesthetic,  they  lead  one  to  suppose  that  the  rela- 
tion between  the  object  of  appreciation  and  the 
observer  is  constant;  in  short  that  the  mind  will 
always  react  to  the  object  in  the  same  way.  The 
true  nature  of  beauty  cannot  be  ascertained  by 
comparing  a  display  of  fireworks,  as  such,  with  a 
painting  by  Titian,  or  the  music  of  an  ^Eolian 
harp  with  the  rendering  of  a  concerto  by  Joachim 
upon  a  Stradivarius.^  All  that  is  gained  is  the 
knowledge  that  some  objects  are  in  general  more 
likely  to  arouse  the  idea  of  beauty  than  others. 
For  most  persons,  cookery  does  not  become  an 
object  of  beauty,  but  it  may  on  occasion;  and  who 
will  deny  an  aesthetic  experience  to  the  English- 
man who,  in  describing  a  remarkable  dinner  he 
had  attended,  was  moved  to  ecstatic  expression  by 
the  harmony  of  wines  and  viands,  or  to  the  French- 
man who  dilated  upon  the  beauty  of  a  certain 
combination  of  liqueurs? 

§  3.  The  Various  Attitudes  toward  the 
Environment 

The  possibility  of  various  attitudes  toward 
nature,  together  with  the  unifying  function  of  per- 
ception, has  previously  been  described.  One  may 
contemplate  the  stars  in  the  heavens  with  the 
purely  scientific  interest  of  an  astronomer  or  may 
delight  in  the  beauty  of  the  myriads  of  flickering 
points  in  the  unified  pattern  which  seems  to  unfold 

1  Op.  cU.,  Vol.  I,  p.  75. 


40    THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

before  one's  gaze.  A  football  game  is  not  generally 
considered  an  object  of  beauty,  yet  it  is  quite  con- 
ceivable that  an  expert  may  be  so  thrilled  by  the 
smoothness  of  the  play  and  by  the  exact  execu- 
tion of  the  well-drilled  attack  that  for  the  moment 
even  the  thought  of  victory  will  have  no  place  in 
his  consciousness.  The  exclamation  "Beautiful!" 
which  escapes  his  lips  will  have  been  used  in  a 
sense  as  legitimate  as  the  most  critical  purist  can 
desire. 

For  the  casual  observer,  standing  in  a  railroad 
station  and  watching  the  approach  of  a  train,  the 
engine  will  probably  be  merely  a  means  of  locomo- 
tion. When,  however,  the  engineer,  or  an  individ- 
ual who  thoroughly  understands  engines,  observes 
the  smooth-running  machinery  and  the  manner 
in  which  the  functions  of  the  various  parts  are 
united  into  an  organic  whole  which  appears  almost 
human,  the  pleasure  obtained  will  be  truly  aes- 
thetic. It  may  seem  to  some  a  stretching  of  the 
meaning  of  the  wqrd,  to  speak  of  a  beautiful 
surgical  operation,  yet  the  surgeon  has  a  very 
distinct  aesthetic  pleasure  in  an  operation  that  has 
been  accomplished  in  accordance  with  his  highest 
desires.  It  was  a  difficult  task  which  has  been 
smoothly  performed. 

In  connection  with  the  above  examples,  the  fact 
of  unification  should  be  emphasized,  for,  as  will  be 
seen  later,  experience  of  unity  is  fundamental  to 
aesthetic  pleasure.  As  some  degree  of  unity 
can  always  be  obtained  no  matter  what  the  object. 


ATTITUDES  TOWARD  ENVIRONMENT    41 

every  situation  contains  at  least  the  latent  pos- 
sibility of  arousing  such  a  pleasure.  As  Professor 
R.  M.  Ogden  has  stated  "There  should  be  .  .  . 
nothing  in  all  human  experience  toward  which  one 
cannot  maintain  an  aesthetic  attitude.  Nature 
in  all  the  manifoldness  of  her  stimuli,  emotions 
in  all  degrees  of  violence,  possess  aesthetic  elements 
which,  under  favorable  conditions,  may  be  made 
dominant,  and  their  attendant  states  appreciated 
with  quiet  and  repose."  ^ 

Thus  far,  we  have  used  the  word  object  to  denote 
a  thing  such  as  a  book  or  a  tree,  but  the  term  is 
also  used  in  the  sense  of  an  aesthetic  object,  a 
useful  object,  a  scientific  object,  etc.,  denoting 
the  various  relations  which  the  thing  can  have 
to  the  mind  which  is  experiencing  it.  A  book  lies 
upon  the  table;  one  discovers  that  it  is  by  Ruskin; 
the  book  then  becomes  a  literary  object,  it  arouses 
in  the  mind  memories  of  the  great  critic,  and  one 
likes  or  dislikes  it  according  to  one's  opinion  of  the 
author.  If  one  is  a  publisher,  a  thought  as  to  the 
number  of  editions  may  occur,  and  its  appeal 
becomes  purely  commercial,  or  it  may  be  the  size 
and  shape  of  the  book  and  its  color  which  attract 
one,  and  the  fact  that  it  is  by  Ruskin  may  only 
play  a  part  in  that  the  color  is  found  to  be  appro- 
priate to  the  contents.  The  book  thus  becomes 
an  aesthetic  object. 

To  exemplify  the  point  further,  consider  the  re- 
lations that  a  crystal  can  occupy  toward  the  mind. 

1  "The  Esthetic  Attitude,"  Journal  of  Philosophy,  etc.,  1905,  pp.  411-412. 


42    THE  SCIENCE  OF  BEAUTY  AND  UGLINESS 

The  scientist's  interests  will  be  in  the  angles,  hard- 
ness, color,  etc.,  as  indications  of  its  nature;  the 
psychologist  will  be  interested  in  the  color  of  the 
crystal  in  so  far  as  it  is  related  to  problems  of 
physiological  optics;  and  a  third  individual  will 
find  the  combination  of  sparkling  colors,  as  such, 
of  sufficient  interest  to  hold  the  attention.  In  ac- 
cordance with  the  general  use  of  the  term,  it  is  the 
same  object  in  each  case,  namely,  the  crystal,  yet 
in  a  restricted  sense  it  is  a  different  object  to  each 
individual. 

These  changes  are  what  Vernon  Lee  appropri- 
ately terms  the  various  aspects  of  things.^  She 
describes  the  attitude  of  three  men  viewing  a  cer- 
tain landscape,  and  she  shows  how  different  is  its 
appeal  to  the  landowner,  to  the  scientist,  and  to 
the  sesthetician.  We  have  seen  above  that  we  do 
not  need  three  separate  minds  in  order  to  have  a 
change  in  the  appeal.  The  same  mind  reacts  dif- 
ferently, according  to  the  mood  and  the  setting.  A 
familiar  way  of  stating  the  same  fact  is  that  the 
object  has  different  meanings  for  different  individ- 
uals and  situations.  Psychologically  it  may  be 
stated  that  the  organism  adopts  different  reaction 
patterns  toward  the  same  object.  In  the  example 
of  the  three  men  viewing  the  landscape,  the  land- 
owner may  run  his  eye  over  the  edge  of  the  field 
in  an  attempt  to  estimate  its  extent  and  may  at 
the  same  time  repeat  to  himself  the  value  per 
acre  of  such  land.    That  action  together  with  con- 

1  The  Beautiful,  pp.  8-21. 


ATTITUDES  TOWARD  ENVIRONMENT    43 

comitant  associated  tendencies  becomes  for  the 
moment  his  aspect  of  the  situation.  The  geologist 
may  glance  over  the  same  ridge  in  search  of  a 
certain  kind  of  rock,  while  images,  more  or  less  dis- 
tinct, of  the  quality  of  the  rock  sought  may  be  in 
his  mind;  while  the  artist  in  ignorance  of  his  com- 
panion's thoughts  may  be  sketching  in  the  air 
with  his  hand  the  outline  of  the  hill  as  he  looks  over 
the  same  scene.  Each  one  is  pleased  with  his  view, 
each  one  has  in  one  sense  the  same  object  of  con- 
templation, and  yet  the  three  men  are  as  far  apart 
in  their  thoughts  as  they  could  be.  The  difference 
does  not  lie  in  the  fact  that  pleasure  is  aroused  or 
that  there  is  an  object  of  a  particular  quality,  nor 
even  in  subtle  differences  in  feeling,  for  the  only 
two  qualities  of  feeling  that  exist,  according  to  the 
opinion  of  the  majority  of  psychologists,  are 
pleasure  and  displeasure.  The  difference  must  be 
sought  in  the  total  situation.  In  each  case,  there 
is  a  different  relation  between  the  object  and  the 
mind.  One  of  these  relations  with  its  accompany- 
ing pleasure  or  pain  is  the  aesthetic  relation,  and 
the  total  situation  is  called  beautiful  or  ugly;  there- 
fore it  is  not  possible  to  discover  the  nature  of 
beauty  and  ugliness  by  the  examination  of  objects 
alone,  or  of  the  sensations  and  feelings  aroused, 
but  by  an  analysis  of  the  relation,  and  this  will 
form  the  subject  of  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

§  1.  Concerning  Theories  of  Beauty 
Fundamental  to  an  understanding  of  the  aesthetic 
relation  is  a  clear  knowledge  of  the  attitude  of  the 
observer  during  aesthetic  enjoyment.  In  order, 
however,  to  understand  the  point  of  view  to  be 
expounded  here,  it  will  first  be  necessary  to  review 
and  criticise  briefly  a  few  representative  theories. 
It  will  be  found  that  there  is  a  degree  of  similarity 
in  all  of  them.  In  fact,  some  seem  at  first  glance 
so  similar  that  essential  differences  are  often  over- 
looked. Also,  they  have,  for  the  most  part,  con- 
tained a  certain  amount  of  truth  which  has  made 
them  more  or  less  acceptable,  but  on  examination 
it  will  be  found  that  the  terms  are  so  vague  and 
used  so  loosely  that  they  may  mean  everything  or 
nothing.  Their  authors,  instead  of  explaining  them 
fully  in  psychological  terms,  have  left  them  so 
ambiguous  that  often  they  are  mere  words  which 
one  interprets  according  to  one's  own  inclination. 
Instead  of  suggestive  words,  one  should  be  given 
the  psychological  content  behind  them  with  suf- 
ficient clearness  to  enable  one  to  adjust  oneself 
in  the  sense  intended. 

§  2.  Absence  of  Utility  and  Purpose 
The  most  frequently  and  generally  accepted  con- 
cept, and  the  one  that  the  majority  of  sestheticians 


ABSENCE  OF  UTILITY  AND  PURPOSE    45 

have  included  in  their  definitions,  from  the  time 
of  the  Greek  philosophers,  is  that  of  the  utter 
absence  of  utility.  We  value  most  things  for  what 
we  can  do  with  them,  for  the  benefit  we  derive 
from  them,  but  in  the  enjoyment  of  art,  according 
to  this  theory,  all  such  materialistic  thoughts  are 
absent.  The  object  of  beauty  is  pleasing  in  itself. 
Kant  excluded  even  the  idea  of  perfection  from 
the  judgment  of  what  he  termed  *'free  beauty,'* 
since  utility  is  involved  in  perfection.  This  "free 
beauty"  is  obtained  only  in  pure  designs  such  as 
the  arabesque.  Horses  or  buildings,  etc.,  can  only 
give  us  "appendant"  beauty  since  they  involve 
the  idea  of  perfection.  ^  In  order  to  make  beauty 
entirely  "free"  there  should  not  even  be  interest 
in  the  possession  of  the  object.  It  should  be  im- 
material whether  we  own  a  picture  or  whether  it  is 
in  a  public  gallery;  in  fact,  the  picture  should  be 
preferred  in  a  public  gallery  so  far  as  the  real 
aesthetic  enjoyment  is  concerned.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  ideas  of  use,  perfection,  possession, 
etc.,  interfere  with,  even  if  they  do  not  preclude 
the  perception  of  beauty.  We  want  to  know,  how- 
ever, why  such  ideas  are  in  any  way  opposed  to  an 
aesthetic  attitude;  why  it  may  be  easier  to  enjoy 
a  pictm-e  in  a  spirit  more  truly  aesthetic  in  a  gal- 
lery than  in  our  own  house.  It  is  desired  to  know 
what  is  the  difference  in  the  psychological  attitude 
under  these  various  conditions  and  this  involves 

1  See  Kant's  Critique  of  Msthelic  Judgment,  translated  by  J.  C.  Meredith, 
pp.  6&-74!. 


46  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

a  knowledge  of  what  is  meant  psychologically  by 
the  enjoyment  of  a  thing  for  itself. 

Further,  the  terms  useful  and  non-useful,  al- 
though suggesting  a  satisfactory  solution,  do 
not  clearly  separate  the  aesthetic  from  the  non- 
aesthetic,  for  it  will  be  readily  admitted  that  in  the 
broad  sense  of  the  word  the  aesthetic  itself  is  ex- 
tremely useful. 

The  term  non-practical  is  also  frequently  used 
to  describe  the  aesthetic  relation,  but  just  as  in  the 
case  of  the  term  useful  we  want  to  know  more 
clearly  what  is  meant.  It  might  readily  be  asked 
whether  an  artist  in  painting  a  picture  for  the 
market  was  not  highly  practical.  Even  if  he  were 
merely  painting  it  for  the  annual  Salon  and  had  no 
other  thought  but  his  reputation  in  mind,  he  might 
still  be  considered  to  be  deserving  of  that  epithet 
"practical,"  which  is  supposed  to  be  derogatory 
when  applied  to  aesthetic  endeavor. 

To  say  that  things  are  pleasing  in  themselves, 
or  as  it  is  still  more  vaguely  expressed,  that  beauty 
is  self-contained,  not  only  conveys  no  knowledge 
of  the  attitude,  but  by  its  very  phraseology  dis- 
courages a  search  beyond  the  object  of  beauty  into 
the  subjective  realm  of  psychological  facts. 

An  obvious  implication  in  the  theory  of  the  ab- 
sence of  utility  is  that  of  absence  of  purpose  and 
of  desire.  Both  concepts  can  be  dismissed  with  a 
word.  There  is  absence  of  purpose  except  the  pur- 
pose of  creation  or  enjoyment  of  the  beautiful, 
and  absence  of  desire  except  that  one  desires  with 


ABSENCE  OF  UTILITY  AND  PURPOSE    47 

all  one's  soul  the  experience  called  beautiful.  As  Mr. 
E.  F.  Carritt  expresses  it:  "There  is  more  truth 
in  the  common  negative  description  that  beauty  is 
what  pleases  apart  from  desire.  But  this  needs 
considerable  qualification  and  explanation.  Those 
to  whom  beauty  means  most  do  in  fact  desire  it, 
though  only  for  purposes  of  contemplation,  just 
as  they  desire  food  though  only  for  eating;  and 
both  appetites  may,  by  starvation,  become  crav- 
ings. What  is  meant  would  probably  be  better 
expressed  by  saying  that  beauty  is  what  pleases  in 
the  mere  contemplation.^  This  would  probably 
cover  some  things  not  usually  or  properly  thought 
beautiful,  and  it  certainly  throws  little  light  upon 
the  nature  of  beauty;  but  as  a  rough  description  it 
might  serve. "  ^  As  Mr.  Carritt  indicates,  such  a 
definition  is  a  good  starting  point,  but  it  is  neces- 
sary to  know  more  fully  what  is  meant  by  mere 
contemplation.  In  short,  those  who  have  the 
power  to  enjoy  beauty,  and  who  have  to  a  certain 
extent  examined  their  attitude,  especially  those 
who  have  made  some  study  of  the  philosophy  of 
art,  will  undoubtedly  see  a  kernel  of  truth  in  all  of 
these  definitions,  but  it  may  be  surmised  that  they 
will  find  them  only  vaguely  descriptive  of  their 
true  experience,  and  that  those  who  have  been  less 
analytical  or  who  have  been  little  in  touch  with 
art,  will  have  difficulty  in  understanding  them 
without  fm-ther  explanation. 

^This  is  the  definition  of  Thomas  Aquinas:  "Id  cujus  ipsa  apprehensio 
placet"  (Summa,  la,  2  oe,  quaest.  27,  art.  1). 
*  Theory  qf  Beauty,  pp.  &-9. 


48  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

§  3.  Detachment  and  Isolation 

Three  authors  have  recently  made  progress 
toward  a  more  complete  description  of  beauty,  by 
attempting  an  analysis  of  the  aesthetic  relation: 
Miinsterberg,  Puffer,  and  BuUough.  Munster- 
berg's  theory  has  offered  useful  suggestions,  but 
his  concepts,  though  clearer  than  those  previously 
mentioned,  are  still  suflSciently  vague  to  leave 
room  for  serious  misunderstanding.  He  speaks  of 
the  detachment  of  the  subject  and  the  isolation  of 
the  object,  thus  emphasizing  the  relational  aspect 
of  beauty,  although  it  must  be  added  that  this  was 
probably  not  his  intention  as  he  would  scarcely 
have  subscribed  to  a  theory  which  was  so  little  in 
accord  with  his  general  philosophical  tendencies. 
In  describing  his  views,  he  indicates  the  difference 
between  the  attitude  of  the  scientist  and  that  of  the 
appreciator  of  beauty.  The  scientist  searches 
always  for  the  cause  and  effect  of  things;  in  so  do- 
ing, he  must  relate  objects  to  their  sm-roundings, 
and  to  the  past,  and  the  future.  His  interest  is  not 
entirely  in  the  object  as  such  but  goes  beyond  it. 
In  the  case  of  beauty,  however,  Miinsterberg  asks, 
"Is  it  not  possible  to  give  the  whole  of  our  mind 
to  the  presentation  of  the  one  thing  alone  with  all 
that  it  gives  us,  with  all  that  it  shows  and  sug- 
gests, while  the  world  about  it  and  the  world 
around  us,  are  forgotten.'*"  ^  Not  only  is  it  pos- 
sible, but  according  to  him  it  is  essential  if  we  are 

'  Principles  of  Art  Education,  p.  19. 


DETACHMENT  AND  ISOLATION  49 

to  know  beauty.  "If  you  really  want  the  thing 
itself,  there  is  only  one  way  to  get  it.  You  must 
separate  it  from  everything  else,  you  must  dis- 
connect it  from  the  mind  so  that  nothing  else  but 
this  one  presentation  fills  the  mind,  so  that  there 
remains  no  room  for  anything  beside  it.  If  that 
ever  can  be  reached,  the  result  must  be  clear:  for 
the  object  it  means  complete  isolation;  for  the 
subject,  it  means  complete  repose  in  the  object, 
and  that  is  complete  satisfaction  with  the  object; 
and  that  is,  finally,  merely  another  name  for  the 
enjoyment  of  beauty."  ^ 

Very  good,  but  when  one  considers  the  words 
more  closely,  one  is  led  to  ask  for  further  knowledge 
of  detachment.  Is  it  the  neglect  of  what  surrounds 
the  work  of  art?  Then  that  is  a  general  attitude 
whenever  one  gives  anything  one's  entire  attention. 
Is  it  detachment  from  everything  that  does  not 
directly  concern  the  object.'^  If  so,  that  would 
include  detachment  from  all  that  makes  up  the 
personality  of  the  observer.  It  would  imply  de- 
tachment from  one's  self,  and  that  this  does  not 
take  place  will  be  shown  later,  for  the  fact  that  the 
subconscious  desires  and  wishes  that  form  the 
self,  instead  of  being  detached  from  experience, 
are  very  essential  for  a  deep  and  vital  appreciation 
of  beauty.  Without  the  appeal  to  one's  under- 
lying tendencies,  there  would  be  the  cold  intel- 
lectual judgment  which  as  closely  resembles  aes- 
thetic pleasure  as  the  light  from  an  arc  lamp  does 

1  Op.  ciL,  p.  20. 


50  THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

a  sunset.  Nor  should  one  so  completely  isolate  an 
object  that  the  idea  of  causal  connection  is  lost, 
for  it  is  largely  through  the  knowledge  of  this  re- 
lation that  the  object  gains  meaning,  and  even  in 
the  experience  of  beauty  meaning  is  essential. 

It  may  be  said  in  defense  of  this  theory  of  "de- 
tachment" that  it  merely  means  that  when  the  ob- 
server is  fully  conscious  of  the  causal  relation  he 
loses  his  aesthetic  attitude.  If  the  theory  does 
mean  that,  then,  in  a  certain  sense,  it  is  true,  and 
yet  this  very  causal  relation,  as  for  example  the 
effect  of  social  forces  in  the  drama,  may  very  well 
be  the  central  object  of  aesthetic  contemplation. 
Even  if  this  is  not  conceded,  still  a  non-awareness 
of  causal  relations  cannot  be  the  criterion  of  aes- 
thetic appreciation,  since  such  non-awareness  is  the 
most  usual  attitude  toward  the  objects  of  experi- 
ence. When  one  sees  an  apple  fall  from  the  tree, 
it  is  more  likely  that  one's  thought  will  be  to  pick 
it  up,  rather  than  to  consider  the  law  of  gravity  or 
the  manner  of  reflection  of  the  ether  waves  from 
its  rosy  cheeks. 

To  say  that  the  object  should  be  completely 
isolated  has  little  practical  value  without  further 
information  derived  from  an  analysis  of  the  at- 
titude we  call  aesthetic.  The  object,  of  course, 
should  be  separated  from  all  that  detracts  from 
one's  contemplation,  but  what  the  limits  of  such 
isolation  should  be  are  not  indicated  in  these 
general  terms.  We  cannot  say  that  when  we  enjoy 
a  picture  our  attention  should  be  entirely  centered 


DETACHMENT  AND  ISOLATION         51 

on  the  canvas  and  that  nothing  beyond  should 
play  any  part  in  om*  attitude.  The  surroundings 
are  necessarily  of  influence  and  either  add  to  or 
detract  from  our  total  enjoyment.  No  one  would 
pretend  that  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference  how  a 
picture  is  hung  in  a  gallery.  Even  the  frame,  which 
through  its  function  of  restricting  the  gaze,  iso- 
lates the  object  and  in  consequence  aids  our  aes- 
thetic perception,  must  itself  be  included  as  a 
factor  in  the  total  harmonious  effect.  Yet  it 
might  readily  be  considered  merely  the  instrument 
for  this  isolation  and  be  excluded  from  considera- 
tion, if  we  had  nothing  but  the  bare  concept  of 
isolation  to  guide  us. 

It  is  recognized  that  Mtinsterberg  imdoubtedly 
did  not  desire  to  be  taken  so  literally.  This  criti- 
cism, trivial  in  itself,  is  given  merely  to  show  how 
difficult  it  is  to  determine,  by  the  application  of  so 
general  a  concept  as  isolation,  just  what  should  be 
considered  to  belong  to  the  work  of  art.  A  further 
difficulty  is  that  even  though  Miinsterberg  has 
stated  that  isolation  is  the  result  of  that  attitude 
he  called  detachment,  one  cannot  be  quite  sure 
from  the  examples  he  has  given  whether  isolation 
is  the  result  of  detachment,  or  detachment  the 
result  of  isolation.  It  is  a  distinct  gain  that  he  has 
emphasized  the  psychological  factors,  but  it  still 
remains  to  explain  more  fully  what  these  are  be- 
fore the  meaning  of  the  terms  is  sufficiently  clear 
to  exclude  deductions  that  are  contrary  to  actual 
experience. 


52  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

It  may  be  admitted,  then,  that  there  are  in  the 
two  words,  detachment  and  isolation,  some  valu- 
able suggestions.  When,  however,  Munsterberg 
says  that  there  is  repose  in  the  object  of  aesthetic 
enjoyment,  he  most  decidedly  contradicts  the 
facts.  It  has  been  shown  that  all  perception — and 
aesthetic  experience  certainly  falls  under  that  term — 
involves  active  participation  on  the  part  of  the  ob- 
server. This  activity  is  not  only  a  so-called  mental 
activity  such  as  is  experienced  in  imagination, 
but  is  often  one  of  observable  bodily  movements. 
A  few  paragraphs  beyond  the  above  quotation, 
Munsterberg  himself,  influenced  by  philosophic 
considerations  which  were  everywhere  his  guide, 
speaks  of  the  isolated  object  as  "an  artificial 
transformation  of  reality  to  serve  the  purpose 
of  our  will,"  ^  words  which  most  surely  imply 
the  demand  for  activity  rather  than  for  repose,  if 
the  term  "will*'  is  to  have  any  meaning.  Further, 
throughout  his  psychological  writings,  Munster- 
berg repeatedly  emphasizes  the  sensations  from 
muscular  movements  as  an  essential  and  integral 
part  of  our  mental  life.  His  use  of  the  term  repose 
is  an  example  of  theory  running  beyond  fact,  and 
has  been  described  here  partly  as  an  example  of 
such  tendencies,  partly  because  it  was  an  important 
mistake  of  his  general  theory.  That  it  was  con- 
sidered an  essential  part  of  his  concept  of  beauty 
is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  it  is  much  enlarged 
upon  by  his  pupil.  Miss  Ethel  Puffer. 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  21, 


REPOSE  IN  THE  OBJECT  OF  BEAUTY    53 

§  4.  Repose  in  the  Object  of  Beauty 

For  Miss  Puffer,  the  loss  of  the  sense  of  personal- 
ity is  necessary  in  aesthetic  appreciation,  and  when 
this  is  obtained  there  is  also  a  condition  of  complete 
repose.  In  order  to  understand  what  is  meant  by 
loss  of  personality,  it  is  necessary  to  explain  briefly 
the  nature  of  attention,  and  what  she  means  by 
foreground  and  background  of  thought.  Suppose 
the  attention  is  concentrated  upon  some  object 
of  perception,  but  not  to  such  a  high  degree  that 
there  is  not  also  consciousness  of  certain  organic 
feelings,  as  for  example  the  beating  of  the  heart, 
the  rhythmical  breathing,  and  the  weight  of  the 
clothes.  A  description  of  such  a  state  of  mind 
would  be  that  the  object  of  perception  is  in  the 
center  of  consciousness,  and  that  the  ideas  of  the 
sensations  of  a  strictly  personal  nature,  which  to- 
gether make  up  the  experience  of  self,  are,  as  James 
states,  in  the  fringe  of  consciousness.  Another 
way  of  stating  it  is  that  there  are  several  levels  of 
attention,  and  when  one  is  self-conscious  it  is  be- 
cause one  has  shifted  from  the  topics  of  objective 
interest  which  were  in  the  center  or  upper  level 
to  others  of  a  more  personal  nature,  which  were 
in  the  lower  level  or  fringe.  After  a  period  of  self- 
consciousness,  there  is  likely  to  be  a  shift  back  to 
other  interests.  This  change  of  interest  from  center 
to  fringe  of  consciousness  is,  for  Miss  Puffer,  a 
lack  of  repose. 

In  order  to  illustrate  her  theory  of  repose  Miss 


64  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

Puffer  describes,  however,  instances  such  as  hyp- 
notic trances  and  ecstatic  states  of  religious  fa- 
natics, where  all  sense  of  personality  disappears. 
When  we  focus  our  attention  upon  a  bright  button 
the  intense  light  reflected  from  it  will  soon  occupy 
our  consciousness  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else.  It  is  then  that  one  reposes  in  the  object,  for 
there  is  at  such  times  no  wandering  back  and  forth 
between  foreground  and  background,  the  term 
wandering  being  used  in  a  vague,  metaphorical 
sense.  It  is  such  a  mental  state  that  the  mystics 
attain  when  they  feel  themselves  one  with  God. 
"The  mystic,  then,  need  only  shut  his  senses  to 
the  world,  and  contemplate  the  One."  ^  This, 
according  to  Miss  Puffer,  is  perfect  repose,  and  it 
is  this  state  that  is  found  in  the  contemplation  of 
beauty.  Such  a  condition  is  what  is  known  psy- 
chologically as  a  one-level  state  of  attention.  It 
is  present  whenever  we  are  entirely  interested 
in  what  we  are  doing,  whether  we  are  listening  to  a 
symphony  or  sharpening  a  lead  pencil,  and  is  not 
peculiar  to  the  contemplation  of  beauty.  As  to  the 
loss  of  the  feeling  of  personality,  this  is  the  most  fre- 
quent condition  of  one's  conscious  state.  Contrary 
to  the  popular  view,  which  generally  involves  a  con- 
fusion between  consciousness  and  self -consciousness, 
it  is  relatively  seldom  that  one  is  self-conscious. 

It  will  be  necessary,  then,  to  seek  beyond  the  loss 
of  self  as  thus  described,  in  order  to  find  the  distin- 
guishing factors  of  the  aesthetic  relation;  and  this 

^  Psychology  of  Beauty,  p.  76. 


REPOSE  IN  THE  OBJECT  OF  BEAUTY    55 

applies  equally  to  the  sense  of  repose,  for  no  one 
can  pretend  to  identify  enjoyment  of  beauty  with 
a  hypnotic  trance  or  a  religious  excursion  into 
Nirvana. 

An  understanding  of  the  nature  of  this  repose 
is  made  more  diflBcult  by  the  introduction  of  an- 
other kind  of  repose,  produced  by  the  balance  of 
impulses,  and  it  is  nowhere  made  clear  what  is  the 
relation  between  this  form  and  that  of  the  repose  of 
attention.  In  fact,  one  is  led  to  believe  that  they 
are  identical,  the  truth  being,  however,  that  they 
are  two  totally  different  things.  The  one  form  is  a 
fact  and  essential  to  sesthetic  enjoyment,  but  no 
more  so  than  to  any  other  complete  perception. 
The  presence  of  the  other  form,  that  is,  repose 
through  balance,  would  entirely  prevent  appre- 
ciation. Mi§s  Puffer  describes  it  thus:  "...  it 
may  be  said  that  the  unity  of  the  object  is  con- 
stituted just  by  the  inhibition  of  all  tendency  to 
movement  through  the  balance  or  centrality  of 
impulses  suggested  by  it.  In  other  words,  the 
balance  of  impulses  makes  us  feel  the  object  a 
unity.  And  this  balance  of  impulses,  this  inhibi- 
tion of  movement,  corresponding  to  unity,  is  what 
we  know  as  sesthetic  repose."  ^  It  will  be  readily 
seen  that  such  repose  brought  about  by  the  balance 
of  impulses  suggested  by  the  object  is  very  differ- 
ent from  the  repose  of  a  concentrated  attention 
that  has  ceased  to  travel  from  foreground,  that 
is  the  object,  to  the  background,  which  is  the  per- 

» Op.  cU.,  p.  79. 


66  THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

sonality.  Yet  in  the  very  next  line  it  is  stated 
that  "conditions  of  aesthetic  repose  and  of  the  loss 
of  self-feeling  are  the  same.  In  fact,  it  might  be 
said  that,  within  this  realm,  the  two  conceptions 
are  identical."  ^ 

To  return  to  the  balance  of  impulses,  it  is  difficult 
to  understand  how  such  a  balance,  which  in  art 
is  one  between  forces  actually  felt  as  such  by  the 
observer,  can  be  called  repose.  One  is  hardly  in  a 
restful  attitude  when  one  is  fully  cognizant,  for 
example,  of  the  "tension  of  conflict,  the  balance 
of  emotion,"  etc. ,2  in  the  drama.  Such  a  state  is  as 
much  repose  as  is  that  of  the  participants  in  an 
equally  balanced  tug-of  war.  It  is  a  curious  fact 
that  the  actual  empirical  descriptions  of  the  en- 
joyment of  beauty  given  by  the  author  contradict 
her  idea  of  repose.  It  is  difficult  to  see,  for  example, 
how  the  statement  concerning  repose  quoted  above 
could  have  been  preceded  by  the  following  with- 
out the  inconsistency  being  observed:  "The  depth 
of  aesthetic  feeling  lies  .  .  .  in  him  who  creates 
the  drama  again  with  the  poet,  who  lives  over 
again  in  himself  each  of  the  thrills  of  emotion  pass- 
ing before  him,  and  loses  himself  in  their  web. 
The  object  is  a  unity  or  our  whirling  circle  of  im- 
pulses, as  you  like  to  phrase  it."  ^  Or  this:  "The 
real  ground  of  the  possibility  of  a  momentary  self- 
annihilation  lies  in  the  fact  that  all  incitements  to 

1  Op.  cU.,  p.  79. 

*  IMd.,  p.  243. 
^  *  Ibid.,  pp.  78-79.    (Italics  not  in  original.) 


PSYCHICAL  DISTANCE  57 

motor  impulses — except  those  which  belong  to  the 
indissoluble  ring  of  the  object  itself — have  been  shut 
out  by  the  perception  of  unity  to  which  the  aes- 
thetic object  (here  the  drama)  has  been  brought."  * 
These  descriptions  are  given  here  not  only  because 
they  contradict  the  idea  of  repose,  but  also  because 
they  are,  with  slight  qualifications,  true  and  useful 
ideas  of  the  aesthetic  attitude,  and  it  is  unfortu- 
nate that  they  should  have  led  to  such  a  mistaken 
theory. 

§  5.  Psychical  Distance 

One  of  the  most  valuable  descriptions  of  the  con- 
ditions underlying  beauty  is  that  given  by  Dr. 
BuUough  in  his  theory  of  "psychical  distance."  ^ 
The  term  "distance"  is  used  metaphorically  and 
not  in  the  sense  of  spatial  or  temporal  separation. 
It  may  for  that  reason  be  misleading  to  some  read- 
ers, and  further,  the  phrase  "psychical  distance" 
has  an  unfortunately  mystical  connotation.  In 
one  place.  Dr.  Bullough  uses  the  term  "detach- 
ment," but,  after  all,  the  name  is  of  little  im- 
portance, inasmuch  as  he  makes  his  underlying 
meaning  fairly  clear  by  well-chosen  examples. 

Let  it  be  supposed  that  an  individual  is  on  a  ship 
during  a  storm,  and  there  is  serious  danger  of 
shipwreck.  It  is  quite  possible  that  even  in  such  a 
situation,  a  man  of  artistic  temperament  would 

1  Op.  eit,  p.  78.    (Italics  not  in  original.) 

2 '"Psychical  Distance,'  as  a  Factor  in  Art  and  an  ^Esthetic  Principle," 
The  British  Journal  of  Psychology,  vol.  5,  pp.  87-118. 


58  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

admire  the  movements  of  the  waves,  and  the  dash 
of  the  spray,  entirely  oblivious  of  danger,  and  with 
no  concern  as  to  what  the  high  seas  may  ultimately 
do  to  the  ship.  Descriptions  of  such  a  state  of 
mind,  even  in  situations  of  extreme  danger,  are 
frequently  found  in  literature.  For  Dr.  Bullough 
there  would  here  be  complete  psychical  distance. 
Suddenly,  however,  a  wave  larger  than  any  pre- 
vious one  approaches  and  the  artist's  muscles  set  in 
preparation  to  meet  the  blow.  Dr.  Bullough 
would  say  that  at  that  instant  he  has  entirely  lost 
his  distance,  that  is,  his  aesthetic  attitude.  It  will 
now  be  better  understood  why  Dr.  Bullough  has 
termed  the  distance  "psychical"  for  it  denotes  the 
mental  attitude.  In  the  one  instant,  the  man  is 
entirely  lost  in  the  shape  of  the  wave  and  its  force, 
and  in  the  color  of  the  water;  in  the  next,  although 
he  still  sees  the  shape  and  its  color,  he  is  interested 
only  in  his  preparation  to  meet  the  contingency. 

Dr.  Bullough  derives  another  illustration  from 
the  play  of  Othello.  If  a  man  whose  wife  has  re- 
cently been  false  to  him  witnesses  this  play,  it 
is  possible  and  even  probable,  that,  at  the  moment 
when  Othello  strangles  Desdemona,  he  will  be  re- 
minded too  vividly  of  his  own  marital  experiences 
and  will  project  these  into  the  scene  before  him. 
Instead  of  observing  the  interplay  of  the  dramatic 
forces  as  presented  by  Shakespeare  he  will  scarcely 
fail  to  imagine  his  own  wife  in  the  place  of  Des- 
demona. In  so  doing  he  ceases  to  view  the  play 
sesthetically.      An    analogous    situation    actually 


PARTICIPATION  IN  OBJECT  OF  BEAUTY    59 

occurs  in  the  play  of  Hamlet,  in  the  scene  where 
Hamlet  and  the  King  are  spectators  of  a  play  within 
the  play.  When  an  impersonator  of  this  very 
King  murderously  pours  poison  into  the  ear  of  the 
late  King,  who  was  Hamlet's  father,  both  Hamlet 
and  the  present  King  are  too  personally  touched, 
their  private  thoughts  and  emotions  are  too  deeply 
aroused  and  they  cease  to  live  strictly  in  the  play. 
Or,  as  some  sestheticians  would  say,  they  cease 
to  "be  in  the  object,"  or  they  lose  their  aesthetic 
repose.  As  Dr.  Bullough  would  say,  they  lose 
their  "psychical  distance." 

§  6.  Complete  Participation  in  the  Object  op 

Beauty 

It  is  now  in  place,  before  proceeding  further  with 
the  factors  of  distance,  to  explain  more  fully  the 
nature  of  the  aesthetic  attitude,  and  it  will  then 
be  more  clearly  seen  what  place  distance  has  in 
such  an  attitude,  for  it  is  not  entirely  clear  from 
Dr.  BuUough's  own  description.  When  one  views 
an  object  aesthetically,  one  lives  in  the  object  in 
the  sense  that  one  allows  oneself  to  be  entirely 
swayed  by  the  laws  of  the  object  without  any  op- 
position upon  one's  own  part.  It  is  a  very  active 
participation,  and  the  term  "passive"  can  be  used 
only  in  the  sense  that  one  allows  oneself  to  be  led. 
What  is  added  through  the  imagination  is  pre- 
scribed by  the  totality  of  the  object,  and  one's 
adjustments  are  shaped  accordingly,  the  object 
being  allowed  in  all  ways  to  dictate  the  manner 


60  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

of  such  adjustment.  The  aesthetic  attitude  may 
be  likened  to  rowing  downstream  with  the  current 
and  following  all  of  its  windings.  One  is  here 
active  in  that  one  moves  with  the  stream,  but 
passive  in  that  one  opposes  no  resistance  to  the 
force  which  is  carrying  one  on.  The  attitude 
is  lost  when  one  attempts  to  push  upstream 
or  off  on  the  side  eddy  of  one's  choice.  One  is 
reminded  of  an  illustration  by  Fidus  of  children  in 
a  boat  paddling  with  the  stream  who  think  they 
are  pushing  while  in  reality  they  are  drifting  with 
the  current. 

What  is  meant  is  best  shown  by  the  attitude  at 
the  drama.  Here  one  follows  and  lives  the  acts 
of  each  of  the  players  as  the  plot  unfolds,  instead 
of  identifying  oneself  with  one  actor  and,  in  the 
eagerness  to  meet  the  developing  situation,  an- 
ticipating events  contrary  to  the  central  idea  of 
the  author.  In  the  truly  sesthetic  participation, 
one  is  swayed  back  and  forth  by  the  conflicting 
forces.  One  is  successively  hero,  villain,  and  clown. 
One  awaits  the  attack  with  the  actor,  and  does  not 
advance  to  meet  it  otherwise  than  as  depicted. 
If  the  scene  involves  the  ringing  of  the  church 
bell,  one  does  not,  in  one's  imagination,  stroll 
toward  the  church,  unless  there  are  indications 
that  it  is  intended  that  one  should.  It  may  be  ob- 
jected that  one  frequently  allows  one's  imagination 
to  wander  from  the  plot  and  to  build  a  plot  of 
one's  own.  That  is  true,  but  then,  for  the  moment, 
one  becomes  playwright  instead  of  audience.    The 


PARTICIPATION  IN  OBJECT  OF  BEAUTY    61 

artist  is  bound  as  well  as  the  audience.  He  is 
bound  by  his  own  unified  plan  and  so  long  as  he 
keeps  within  it,  he  too  is  a  servant  of  the  char- 
acters and  walks  and  talks  with  them  all. 

The  man  who  lost  his  distance  at  the  play  of 
Othello  by  imagining  his  wife  in  the  place  of  Des- 
demona  ceased  to  feel  the  total  conflict  in  that 
he  became  identified  with  Othello  alone  and  no 
longer  lived  in  the  lines  of  the  playwright.  By  that 
act  the  aesthetic  attitude  was  lost.  Actors  have 
often  felt  flattered  by  effects  upon  their  audience 
which  were  totally  unsesthetic.  A  famous  actor 
delighted  to  recount  an  incident  which  occurred 
while  he  was  playing  The  Middleman.  He  was 
a  poor  inventor  who  had  used  up  his  last  resources 
and  could  not  obtain  sufficient  fuel  to  keep  up 
the  furnace  fire  in  which  the  pottery  was  being 
hardened.  Only  a  few  moments  more  and  his  for- 
tune would  have  been  made.  Moved  by  the  ex- 
citement of  the  scene,  a  man  in  the  gallery  threw 
down  fifty  cents,  shouting,  "Here,  old  man,  buy 
wood  with  it."  This  active  participation  was  proof 
of  the  realism  of  the  scene,  but  an  actor  with  ideals 
of  his  art  would  scarcely  care  to  act  before  an  au- 
dience composed  entirely  of  such  individuals.  Such 
an  attitude  as  that  just  described  is  typical  of  the 
melodrama  where  the  audience  frequently  hisses 
the  villain  and  applauds  the  hero  when  it  is  not 
warning  him  of  approaching  danger;  truly  an 
attitude  which  is  highly  enjoyable  to  those  con- 
cerned.   Such  participation  can,  however,  scarcely 


62  THE  AESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

be  termed  aesthetic,  for  it  is  opposing  oneself  to  the 
tendencies  and  motives  of  the  play. 

Another  actor  has  described  the  fright  of  one  of 
the  musicians  in  the  orchestra  when  the  actor 
rushed  down  the  stage  toward  him  in  one  of  his 
most  dramatic  scenes.  The  musician  never  be- 
came accustomed  to  this  scene.  Night  after  night 
he  started  back  in  terror  before  the  onrush  of  the 
actor.  So  pleased  was  the  latter  that  at  the  end 
of  the  engagement  he  presented  the  musician  with 
a  box  of  cigars.  It  would  be  difficult  for  any  one 
in  the  musician's  position  to  have  retained  his 
aesthetic  outlook,  to  have  been  so  occupied  by  the 
plot  and  acting  that  he  would  have  followed  the 
actor  in  thought  instead  of  retreating  before  him; 
but  if  that  was  also  the  effect  upon  the  rest  of  the 
audience,  the  play  could  not  be  considered  a  suc- 
cess so  far  as  beauty  is  concerned. 

Even  applause  at  critical  points  of  the  acting, 
so  annoying  to  the  lover  of  dramatic  art,  although 
an  indication  of  appreciation,  is  also  proof  that  the 
audience  has  for  the  time  lost  its  distance  and 
slipped  away  from  the  purely  aesthetic.  As  an 
example  from  the  appreciation  of  nature,  one  may 
stand  upon  the  shore  in  deep  enjoyment  of  the 
"cold  gray  mist  and  the  dawn,"  one  may  be  en- 
chanted by  the  lines  of  the  waves,  the  soft  spray 
of  the  foaming  water  as  it  slides  up  the  smooth 
beach,  one  may  feel  the  movement  of  the  water 
and  the  lines  of  the  beach  as  it  inclines  to  meet  it, 
and  the  unity  of  the  total  situation.    One  may  be- 


PARTICIPATION  IN  OBJECT  OF  BEAUTY    63 

come  so  absorbed  in  the  harmony  of  lines  and  color 
that  one  is  entirely  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  the 
water  has  touched  one's  shoes.  It  is  obvious  that 
when  one  retreats  before  the  waves  one  loses  one's 
distance,  that  the  water  is  no  longer  a  thing  of 
beauty,  but  a  force  that  is  compelling  one  to  with- 
draw. It  cannot  be  said  that  the  loss  of  aesthetic 
attitude  is  due  to  the  intrusion  of  the  thought  of 
self  into  consciousness,  and  for  that  reason  one 
ceases  to  "repose"  in  the  object,  for  one's  flight 
may  be  so  nearly  reflex  and  instantaneous  that 
there  is  no  place  or  time  for  self-consciousness. 
It  might  be  asked  whether  in  the  backward  move- 
ment one  were  not  still  living  in  the  scene.  To  this 
one  may  reply  that  the  movements  would  not  be 
according  to  any  requirement  of  the  scene  itself, 
and  they  would  not  be  a  part  of  or  harmonize 
with  the  picture  that  has  been  before  one  as  an 
object  of  aesthetic  enjoyment. 

One  may  enjoy  the  tone  of  the  bugle  call  aes- 
thetically and  retain  one's  distance  by  the  con- 
templation of  fundamental  tone  and  overtones. 
One's  usual  attitude,  however,  is  a  non-aesthetic 
one;  the  sound  starts  a  movement  the  manner  of 
which  is  in  no  way  prescribed  by  the  sound  itself, 
nor  in  harmony  with  it.  A  group  of  individuals 
hearing  it  will  all  understand  its  meaning,  but  the 
variations  in  response  may  be  as  great  as  the 
number  of  individuals  and  the  enjoyment  may  be 
either  in  the  sound  itself,  in  the  manner  of  re- 
sponse, or  in  the  union  of  the  two. 


64  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

In  entering  an  art  gallery  one  comes  suddenly 
upon  a  Greek  statue  with  outstretched  hand. 
There  may  be  an  involuntary  tendency  to  put  out 
one's  hand  under  a  misapprehension  that  the 
statue  invites  it,  but  the  manner  of  stretching 
one's  own  hand  is  not  indicated  by  the  statue, 
and  there  can  therefore  be  no  question  of  the 
harmony  of  this  movement  with  the  movements 
as  indicated  by  the  lines  of  the  figure.  This  first 
surprised  attitude,  then,  is  non-aesthetic  and  in 
sharp  contrast  with  the  attitude  assumed  when 
enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  statue.  There  is  also 
in  this  latter  attitude  the  tendency  to  stretch  the 
arm,  but  it  is  in  order  to  feel  the  full  value  of  the 
lines  of  the  statue.  It  is  an  extension  of  the  arm 
tuith  the  arm  of  the  statue  and  not  toward  it, 
and  thus  a  movement  in  harmony  with  the  rest 
of  the  statue  as  intended  by  the  sculptor.  A  full 
description  of  the  nature  of  this  participation  or 
empathy  is  not  in  question  here,  but  will  be  dis- 
cussed in  the  following  chapter.  The  intention 
here  is  merely  to  make  clear  the  general  distinction 
between  the  aesthetic  and  non-aesthetic  activities 
of  the  observer. 

The  aesthetic  attitude  as  thus  described  is  dia- 
metrically opposed  to  one's  usual  attitude  toward 
one's  environment,  the  one  which  one  learns  to 
assume  by  reason  of  the  struggle  for  existence. 
In  this  latter  attitude,  we  are  continually  opposing 
forces.  Our  organism  becomes  set  or  adjusted 
to  meet  and  overcome  obstacles,  while,  as  has  been 


THE  FEELING  OF  UNREALITY  65 

stated  above,  the  aesthetic  set  is  directed  toward 
experiencing  in  ourselves  the  various  relations 
which  the  elements  of  the  object  have  to  one  an- 
other and  not  our  own  independent  action  in 
regard  to  them.  Biologically  it  is  the  more  in- 
dependent action  which  is  of  significance  and  in- 
terest, and  for  this  reason  it  is  for  most  of  us  the 
habitual  mode  of  response.  The  aesthetic  attitude, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  not  only  more  unusual,  but 
one  that  for  most  individuals  has  to  be  cultivated 
if  it  is  to  exist  at  all  in  the  midst  of  the  opposing 
and  therefore  disturbing  influences  which  are 
always  present.  We  are  accustomed  to  put  out 
our  hand  in  greeting,  to  retreat  from  advancing 
waves,  and  to  brace  ourselves  against  attack. 
The  man  who  does  not  seem  to  have  this  attitude 
is  considered  somewhat  abnormal,  and  the  artist 
who  has  developed  the  contrary  mode  of  response 
belongs  to  the  type  so  frequently  called  erratic. 
If  the  word  "detachment"  is  understood  to  mean 
this  latter  attitude,  then  the  term  may  be  legiti- 
mately used  to  describe  the  artistic  state  of  mind. 

§7.  The  Feeling  of  Unreality 

It  is  possible  to  explain  the  feeling  of  unreality 
which  is  present  in  aesthetic  experience  in  terms 
of  that  adjustment  of  the  organism  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  aesthetic  attitude.  When  we  react 
to  the  world  with  our  habitual  mode  of  response, 
things  seem  real.  When  there  is  a  derangement, 
we  experience  a  feeling  of  unreality,  which  can 


66  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

become  pathological  in  its  extreme  form.  In  cer- 
tain nervous  diseases,  there  is,  through  a  disorder 
in  the  sympathetic  nervous  system,  an  absence  of 
the  usual  emotional  response.  For  example,  if 
there  is  news  of  the  death  of  an  intimate  friend, 
full  meaning  of  the  message  is  grasped  intellectu- 
ally by  the  one  suffering  from  such  a  nervous 
disorder,  but  there  is  an  absence  of  the  accustomed 
emotion.  The  eyes  remain  dry,  the  heart  fails  to 
beat  more  irregularly,  and  the  patient  complains 
that  there  is  a  strong  sense  of  unreality,  as  would 
be  the  case  if  he  were  witnessing  a  drama  instead 
of  living  an  experience  which  is  of  vital  importance 
to  him.  Familiar  objects  no  longer  call  up  emo- 
tional responses.  In  fact,  the  whole  world  is 
viewed  with  indifference.  This  is  what  is  known 
as  an  estrangement  from  the  world  of  reality. 
Soldiers  have  frequently  stated  that  while  on  the 
front  line,  it  seemed  to  them  as  though  they  were 
witnessing  a  play,  that  life  under  shell  fire  was  like 
a  well-staged  drama,  although  they  were  actually 
participating  in  the  most  vital  events  that  ever 
involved  civilization.  The  explanation  of  this 
experience,  and  it  has  been  too  often  corroborated 
to  be  doubted,  seems  to  be  in  the  unaccustomed 
responses  that  are  made.  The  soldiers  have  been 
meeting  conditions  that  they  have  never  had  to 
face  before,  perhaps  not  even  in  their  most  un- 
controlled imaginings,  and  they  must  develop 
a  new,  and  unaccustomed  set  of  adjustments. 
Their  manner  of  thought  changes;  generally  in 


THE  FEELING  OF  UNREALITY  67 

the  direction  of  a  doctrine  of  fatalism  which  they 
embrace  in  order  to  maintain  their  mental  balance. 
Not  only  that,  but  their  emotions  have  been  so 
often  and  strongly  aroused  that  they  become  al- 
most indifferent  to  the  most  harrowing  scenes, 
to  horrors  that  in  their  ordinary  life  as  peaceful 
civilians  would  have  overpowered  them.  Their 
state  is  very  similar  to  the  pathological  one  just 
described,  and  a  remark  that  is  frequently  heard 
is  that  "It  is  all  so  strange  that  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve it  is  real." 

The  aesthetic  attitude  (being  a  non-resisting  one) 
is  not,  as  previously  stated,  such  an  adjustment  as 
is  ordinarily  assumed  toward  the  environment. 
There  is  a  different  motor  set,  and  for  that  reason 
there  is  present  in  appreciation  a  feeling  of  make- 
believe  which  has  given  rise  to  an  identification 
that  is  so  frequently  made  between  art  and  play. 
It  is  not  meant  that  this  sense  of  unreality  is 
vividly  in  consciousness  in  aesthetic  contemplation. 
It  is  no  more  strongly  represented  than  is  the 
feeling  of  familiarity  toward  our  own  clothes  or 
our  accustomed  haunts.  We  are  usually  fully 
conscious  of  our  familiar  surroundings  only  when 
some  aspect  of  them  has  been  changed.^ 

It  is  this  unreality  which  Professor  Konrad 
Lange  has  termed  "illusion,"  and  which  he  has 
made  the  criterion  of  art,  without,  however, 
searching  for  its  deeper  significance.  He  writes, 
"We    conclude   .    .    .    that    aesthetic    enjoyment 

1  This  is  more  fully  described  on  page  85. 


68  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

which  a  work  of  art  as  work  of  art  affords  is  de- 
pendent neither  upon  the  quaHty  of  its  content 
nor  upon  its  formal  nature,  but  that  it  rests  en- 
tirely upon  the  strength  and  vividness  of  the 
illusion  to  which  the  artist  brings  us  through  his 
art. "  ^  To  Professor  Lange,  who  is  concerned 
only  with  art  and  not  with  beauty  in  nature,  that 
may  have  seemed  a  sufficient  definition,  but  it 
is  not  adequate  and  it  entirely  fails  to  explain  the 
aesthetic  enjoyment  of  natural  beauty.  A  knowl- 
edge of  the  psychology  of  the  attitude  is  first 
required,  and  an  understanding  of  the  sense  of 
illusion  follows.  The  characteristics  of  the  art 
object  as  such  are  not  the  only  factors  of  illusion. 
There  will  be  no  sense  of  illusion  in  witnessing  a 
play,  even  though  it  has  all  the  qualities  that  are 
usually  favorable  to  illusion,  if  we  slip  from  the 
aesthetic  attitude. 

The  question  of  realism  in  art  has  caused  much 
difficulty  because  it  involves  ideas  that  have  ap- 
peared hard  to  reconcile.  The  dramatic  critic 
asks  for  "real"  situations  and  "real"  incidents. 
He  objects  to  a  play  that  seems  artificial,  that  does 
not  correspond  to  life,  yet  we  have  said  that  a 
truly  aesthetic  enjoyment  demands  a  sense  of  un- 
reality. The  seeming  contradiction  is  readily 
explained  by  the  fact  that  the  object  may  be  as 
real  in  the  sense  of  true  to  life,  as  is  consistent  with 
the  intent  of  the  artist,  but  the  attitude  of  the  ob- 
server should  be   different   from    that  generally 

*  Das  Wesen  der  Kunst,  p.  81. 


APPEAL  TO  OUR  PERSONAL  DESIRES    69 

assumed  toward  the  world.  If  we  are  able  to 
maintain  an  aesthetic  attitude,  the  most  stirringly 
real  play  will  continue  to  be  a  play  for  us,  and  the 
most  ultra-realistic  picture  will  continue  to  be  a 
work  of  art,  and  the  most  life-like  statue  will  re- 
main for  us  a  series  of  graceful  lines  in  marble; 
that  is,  we  shall  have  maintained  our  distance, 
and  the  object  will  have  remained  an  object  of 
beauty. 

§  8.  The  Appeal  to  our  Personal  Desires 

If  we  are  to  live  passively  in  the  object  of  art, 
must  om*  own  personality  be  entirely  suppressed? 
Are  we  to  enjoy  the  unity  of  plot  or  the  grace  of 
line  only  in  an  entirely  abstract  manner,  so  distant 
from  the  content  that  we  are  entirely  indifferent 
to  it?  Must  all  art  have  as  formal  an  appeal  as 
that  of  most  musicial  compositions  or  symphon- 
ies of  color  in  fine  art?  Should  art  have  no  human 
appeal?  Without  further  explanation,  such  con- 
clusions might  be  drawn  from  what  has  been  said, 
but  notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  some  artists 
and  critics,  the  history  of  aesthetic  appreciation 
and  the  evidence  of  the  present  day  point  to  the 
fact  that  the  art  if  it  is  to  last  must  be  a  warm, 
living  art,  made  for  human  beings  and  not  intellec- 
tual machines,  appealing  not  only  through  the 
formal  arrangement  but  through  the  subject- 
matter,  that  is,  through  the  content  or  meaning  of 
such  arrangement. 

Every  individual  has  within  him  the  possibiUty 


70  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

of  definite  modes  of  response  which  constitute 
his  personaHty.  In  the  unconscious,  or  as  some 
would  say  the  sub-conscious,  are  what  may  be 
called  suppressed  complexes.  A  complex  involves 
"wishes*'  according  to  Dr.  E.  B.  Holt,  who  thus 
describes  the  latter  term:  "This  *wish,'  which  as  a 
concept  Freud  does  not  analyze,  includes  all  that 
would  commonly.be  so  classed,  and  also  whatever 
would  be  called  impulse,  tendency,  desire,  purpose, 
attitude,  and  the  like;  not  including,  however, 
any  emotional  components  thereof.  .  .  .  An  exact 
definition  of  the  *  wish '  is  that  it  is  a  course  of  action 
which  some  mechanism  of  the  body  is  set  to  carry 
out,  whether  it  actually  does  so  or  does  not.  .  .  . 
We  shall  do  well  if  we  consider  this  wish  to  be, 
as  in  fact  it  is,  dependent  on  a  motor  attitude  of  the 
physical  body,  which  goes  over  into  overt  action 
and  conduct  when  the  wish  is  carried  into  execu- 
tion." ^  Our  acts,  even  those  which  seem  most 
trivial,  are  to  some  extent  controlled  by  our  un- 
conscious desires,  hopes  and  impulses,  although  we 
are  for  the  most  part  unaware  of  the  true  motives. 
At  times  we  are  dimly  conscious  of  the  true  reason 
for  our  acts.  At  other  times  it  may  be  of  such  a 
nature  that  we  do  not  care  to  acknowledge  it  even 
to  ourselves.  We  therefore  rationalize  our  acts, 
in  our  own  minds,  thus  deceiving  ourselves,  as, 
for  example,  when  we  refuse  to  contribute  to  char- 
ity because,  as  we  tell  our  conscience,  we  do  not 

^  The  Freudian  Wish,  pp.  3-4.    The  mechaDism  of  unconscious  tendencies 
ia  explained  in  the  last  chapter,  entitled  "  Response  and  Cognition." 


APPEAL  TO  OUR  PERSONAL  DESIRES    71 

quite  approve  of  some  of  the  methods  of  the  or- 
ganization, the  true  reason  being,  and  we  are  aware 
of  the  fact  in  the  dim  recesses  of  our  minds,  that 
we  do  not  care  to  spend  the  money.  Now  to  ap- 
peal to  such  unconscious  desires  is  to  gain  our  in- 
terest, and  the  more  fundamental  the  desire,  the 
stronger  will  be  the  appeal. 

It  may  be  objected,  however,  that  the  above 
facts  are  in  contradiction  to  the  previous  state- 
ment that  we  must  live  in  the  object  of  apprecia- 
tion, allowing  ourselves  to  be  passively  swayed 
hither  and  thither  by  it.  How  can  we  give  our- 
selves up  so  completely  and  still  fulfill  our  own 
desires?  The  answer  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that 
the  work  of  art  must  be  of  such  a  nature  that  we 
can  find  expression  for  our  wishes  in  it.  Not  only 
should  the  work  of  art  touch  our  wishes  and  in  that 
way  interest  us,  but  it  must  provide  the  means  for 
the  complete  fulfillment  of  the  wish  within  the 
object  itself,  if  it  is  to  remain  art  for  the  observer. 
Undoubtedly  some  of  the  pleasure  in  art  form  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  we  can  realize  in  a  world  of 
unreality  wishes  and  impulses  that  we  otherwise 
should  not  desire  to  express  or  for  whose  realiza- 
tion the  opportunity  would  never  be  offered.  The 
wish  is  released  and  the  sense  of  unreality  relieves 
us  of  the  necessity  of  rationalization.  The  stage 
probably  makes  the  strongest  appeal  to  these  un- 
derlying wishes,  and  it  is  here  that  the  mechanism 
just  described  is  most  readily  recognized,  but  it 
applies  in  greater  or  less  degree  to  all  forms  of  art. 


72  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

no  matter  how  formal.  Even  in  the  enjoyment  of 
the  rhythm  of  Hnes  unconscious  impulses  are  in- 
volved which  give  meaning  to  the  experience. 
Art  for  art's  sake,  if  by  the  phrase  is  meant  that 
art  should  be  independent  of  all  content,  is  an  ab- 
stract rule  that  is  made  impossible  by  the  very 
nature  of  mind. 

It  will  now  be  more  clearly  understood  why 
such  terms  as  "detachment"  and  "disinterested 
contemplation"  may  be  misleading.  Far  from 
requiring  an  inhibition  of  all  play  of  our  person- 
ality such  as  exists  in  an  hypnotic  trance,  we  de- 
mand and  are  able  to  obtain  in  art  the  widest 
scope  for  the  harmless  play  of  those  complex 
systems  of  impulses  which  the  psychologists  be- 
lieve to  constitute  the  ego. 

§  9.  Degrees  of  Personal  Appeal  in  the 
-Esthetic  Attitude 

Furthermore  if  we  believe  that  art  should  benefit 
the  individual  and  improve  the  race,  it  should  ap- 
peal to  as  many  impulses  and  desires  as  is  consist- 
ent with  the  maintenance  of  the  aesthetic  attitude. 
Dr.  Bullough  has  expressed  this  idea  by  saying 
that  we  should  have  as  little  distance  as  possible 
without  losing  our  distance — a  rule  which  he  calls 
"the  antinomy  of  distance."  As  thus  formulated, 
it  would  mean  literally  an  infinitesimal  amount 
of  distance.  Dr.  Bullough  has  unfortunately 
used  the  word  distance  to  cover  two  distinct  facts : 
the  amount  of  appeal  which  is  one  of  the  factors 


DEGREES  OF  PERSONAL  APPEAL        73 

underlying  the  attitude,  and  the  aesthetic  attitude 
itself.  There  is  a  certain  advantage  in  speaking 
of  the  varying  strength  of  the  appeal  to  our  wishes 
in  terms  of  distance,  but  that  must  not  be  identi- 
fied with  the  essential  attitude  toward  beauty, 
for  we  can  have  more  or  less  distance,  but  we  can- 
not have  degrees  of  aesthetic  attitude.  We  are 
either  appreciating  an  object  aesthetically  or  we  are 
not.  At  any  given  time,  we  are  either  concerned 
with  the  beauty  of  the  object  or  with  some  other 
value  of  the  same.  Just  as  soon,  for  example,  as 
ethical  considerations  occur  to  our  mind,  our  atti- 
tude shifts.  It  is  not  at  one  and  the  same  time 
partly  ethical  and  partly  aesthetic.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  may  be  so  rapid  a  shifting  of  the  at- 
titude that  on  reflection  our  pleasure  seems  to 
come  from  a  mixed  source.  Such  a  change  of  in- 
terest is  comparable  to  a  rapid  shift  of  attention 
between  two  activities  so  that  it  appears  as  if  we 
were  doing  two  separate  things  at  the  same  time, 
such  as  listening  to  two  different  conversations. 

Although  it  is  desirable  to  have  as  much  human 
appeal  as  possible,  it  is  evident  that  the  more  ap- 
peal there  is,  other  things  being  equal,  that  is,  the 
less  distance,  the  more  likelihood  there  will  be  of 
loss  of  aesthetic  attitude.  That  is  the  danger  that 
is  run,  and  one  that  those  who  advocate  art  for 
art's  sake  hesitate  to  take.  The  bugle  call,  for 
example,  sets  off  too  strong  a  complex,  that  of 
hunger  and  its  usual  accompaniment  in  the  form 
of  a  food-seeking  reaction.    It  is  seldom  that  such 


74  THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

a  strong  biological  appeal  will  be  resisted,  except 
perhaps  by  a  musician  who  is  in  the  act  of  compos- 
ing a  domestic  symphony  and  whose  interest  is  in 
expressing  the  dinner  concept  by  the  tone  har- 
monies. 

The  presence  of  little  distance  is  the  explanation 
for  the  general  non-aesthetic  character  of  the  appeal 
to  our  so-called  lower  senses,  for  such  an  appeal 
is  to  desires  of  a  strongly  personal  nature.  It  is 
through  the  appetites  that  most  of  our  important 
adjustments  to  the  environment,  that  is  our  es- 
sential habits,  are  formed.  When,  therefore,  the 
appeal  to  the  lower  senses  is  aesthetic,  it  is  because 
attention  has  been  strongly  directed  to  the  rela- 
tion of  such  sensory  experience  to  the  rest  of  the 
art  object  rather  than  to  ourselves.  An  example 
would  be  a  reproduction  of  the  gdor  of  the  lemon 
trees  in  an  Italian  scene  presented  on  the  stage. 
The  fact  that  the  scene  has  been  laid  in  a  distant 
and  relatively  unfamiliar  land  acts  as  an  aid  in 
maintaining  the  aesthetic  attitude  since  it  presents 
a  setting  which  has  small  likelihood  of  touching 
off  an  independent  form  of  response.  To  those 
who  are  familiar  with  the  particular  place  in  ques- 
tion, however,  there  is  here  involved  the  factor 
already  mentioned,  that  is,  appeal  to  our  personal 
experience,  which  has  a  very  strong  hold  upon  us 
both  emotionally  and  in  the  form  of  a  tendency 
to  action  in  a  definite  and  individualistic  manner. 
To  most  individuals  a  painting  of  the  Hardanger 
Fjord  in  Norway  would  be  a  work  of  art  under 


DEGREES  OF  PERSONAL  APPEAL        75 

almost  all  circumstances,  but  for  one  who  has  lived 
at  the  particular  location  represented  by  the  pic- 
ture, too  many  specific  responses  would  be  in- 
volved and  there  would  be  interference  with  the 
attitude  desired  by  the  artist.  However,  appeal 
can  safely  be  made  to  unconscious  impulses  so 
long  as  the  art  form  does  not  present  a  situation 
too  familiar  to  the  observer.  An  abstract  idea 
such  as  "ambition,'*  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
it  is  one  of  the  strongest  forces  in  society,  can 
safely  be  the  theme  of  a  drama.  This  is  especially 
true  if  the  situations  are  not  too  close  to  our  own 
time,  as  for  example  in  the  dramatization  of  scenes 
from  the  life  of  Caesar  or  Napoleon.  Such  scenes 
will  be  sufiiciently  familiar  to  the  average  individ- 
ual to  be  appreciated  and  yet  will  have  enough 
distance  to  preserve  the  aesthetic  attitude. 

Temporal  remoteness  is  a  strong  factor  in  pre- 
serving the  attitude.  Pictures,  plays,  statues, 
which  represent  the  life  of  the  past  generation  hold 
the  observer  in  the  land  of  beauty  with  little  dif- 
ficulty. It  is  comparatively  easy  to  keep  one's 
attitude  when  reading  Shakespeare  or  witnessing 
his  plays,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the  miracle 
plays.  At  the  time  they  were  written,  however, 
they  appealed  much  more  directly  to  the  everyday 
life  of  the  people,  just  as  do  many  of  the  plays  of 
the  present  time;  consequently  they  had  not  the 
aesthetic  effect  they  have  at  present.  Many  pic- 
tures and  plays  of  the  world  war,  although  in- 
tensely interesting,  have  at  present  difficulty  in 


76  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

holding  us  in  an  aesthetic  attitude.  Compare  the 
effect  of  a  very  realistic  painting  of  the  Battle  of 
the  Mame  with  the  battle  scenes  by  Verestchagin 
in  the  gallery  at  Moscow.  Realistic  though  the 
latter  are,  and  close  to  our  general  interests,  for 
realism  was  the  avowed  aim  of  Verestchagin,^  yet 
they  are  so  far  removed  both  as  regards  time 
and  place,  that  they  are  relatively  easy  to  enjoy 
aesthetically. 

The  purpose  of  presenting  human  motives  in 
idealized  form  is  evidently  to  hold  the  observers 
faithful  in  the  path  of  beauty,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  touch  their  deep-seated  wishes.  The  Greeks 
have  probably  been  the  most  successful  in  this, 
and  that  is  one  reason  for  the  strength  of  the  aes- 
thetic appeal  of  their  art.  Not  only  is  the  intrinsic 
value  of  Greek  superior  to  that  of  Roman  art, 
but  the  latter  being  more  realistic  tends  to  break 
down  the  attitude  by  its  lack  of  distance. 

It  is  diflScult  to  interest  a  child  in  the  beauty  of 
objects  if  they  are  similar  to  its  accustomed  sur- 
roundings, for  its  interest  lies  then  primarily  in 
identifying  familiar  objects,  but  it  is  readily  under- 
stood why  this  and  other  biological  attitudes 
should  be  uppermost  in  children  and  primitive 
people  who  are  in  the  early  stages  of  adjustment  to 
their  environment.  It  is  therefore  customary  and 
advisable,  if  we  desire  to  direct  the  child's  atten- 

^  Verestchagin's  concept  of  realism  is  very  well  brought  out  in  his  essay 
"Realism,"  Second  Appendix  to  catalogue  of  the  Verestchagin  Exhibition, 
1889-1890. 


DEGREES  OF  PERSONAL  APPEAL        77 

tion  to  the  beauty  of  things,  to  present  scenes  which 
ideaHze  reahty.  Very  few  children  will  miss  the 
dramatic  incidents  in  the  fairy  tales.  Although 
they  are'  removed  from  accustomed  experiences, 
they  play  upon  the  strongest  human  instincts. 

An  interesting  effect  of  distance  is  observed  in 
the  reaction  to  the  comic.  In  order  that  the  comic 
may  appear  amusing,  it  must  touch  off  some  strong 
complex  in  the  individual  and  offer  a  vehicle  for 
its  release.  In  order  that  this  release  may  appear 
pleasant  and  amusing,  great  distance  is  effected 
through  the  technique  of  the  comic,  which  gives 
the  wish  an  apparently  harmless  aspect.  Fre- 
quently the  appeal  appears  very  abstract  though 
in  reality  it  is  a  fundamental  one.  Indeed,  the 
distance  is  often  so  well  achieved  through  the 
clever  mechanism  that  the  pleasure  appears  to 
be  entirely  in  the  dramatic  aspect  of  the  joke. 
It  is  by  reason  of  the  attitude  of  detachment  thus 
produced  that  jokes  of  somewhat  suggestive  con- 
tent are  sometimes  countenanced  for  the  moment 
although  they  may  distress  one  on  further  re- 
flection. 

If  art  is  too  far  idealized  and  too  distant  in  its 
appeal,  its  influence  will  be  limited.  If  it  has  too 
little  distance,  that  is  if  it  deals  with  incidents  of 
the  present  day  and  of  local  interest,  it  is  likely  to 
lose  its  art  character,  so  that  we  have  here  two 
horns  of  a  dilemma-  The  playwright  with  high 
ideals  of  his  art  shudders  at  the  thought  of  catering 
to  the  wishes  of  the  modern  audience.    The  mere 


78  THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

suggestion  of  the  white  lights  of  Broadway  chills 
his  blood.  Therefore,  he  writes  his  play  regardless 
of  the  pulse  of  the  time.  Critics  praise  it,  drama 
leagues  recommend  it,  but  the  playhouse  remains 
half  empty,  for  the  reason  that  it  is  too  formal. 
It  is  necessary  to  meet  the  existing  thoughts  and 
desires  at  least  halfway,  even  if  for  a  time  the 
aesthetic  appeal  is  lessened,  provided  that  the  con- 
tent or  meaning  does  not  predominate  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  artistic  form  is  quite  unperceived. 
There  is  little  value  in  an  art  that  is  doomed  to 
empty  galleries  and  halls.  Even  the  plays  of 
Shakespeare  at  the  present  time  have  not  the  hold 
upon  the  people  that  their  artistic  merit  deserves, 
and  this  is  due  both  to  their  too  great  distance,  and 
to  the  ignorance  on  the  part  of  the  public  of  the 
formal  aspects  of  art. 

The  experienced  art  lover  is  able  to  keep  his 
attitude  under  almost  any  circumstances.  It 
little  matters  how  replete  with  personal  meaning 
the. picture,  play,  or  statue  may  be,  he  can  re- 
spond to  its  intrinsic  beauty,  because  he  is  able  to 
perceive  and  appreciate  all  the  deep  subtleties  of 
the  formal  elements  which,  through  their  abstract 
nature,  touch  ofif  only  general  tendencies  and  modes 
of  action. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  restrict  art  to  the  formal 
appeal,  but  it  is  essential  to  the  maintenance  of 
the  aesthetic  attitude  that  a  knowledge  of  the  formal 
elements  should  become  part  of  our  intellectual 
background,  so  that  these  elements  will  be  an 


DEGREES  OF  PERSONAL  APPEAL        79 

effective  factor  in  our  aesthetic  reactions.  It  is 
not  meant  by  this  that  we  consciously  isolate  the 
formal  elements  and  pass  judgment  upon  them 
while  enjoying  a  work  of  art  aesthetically.  When 
we  become  intellectually  occupied  in  coldly  esti- 
mating the  merits  of  the  lines  of  a  statue,  or  the 
dramatic  construction  of  a  play,  we  slip  from  the 
attitude  of  aesthetic  enjoyment  to  the  attitude  of 
the  critic.  In  the  former  attitude  we  respond  emo- 
tionally to  a  situation  of  which  the  lines  and  forces 
that  we  have  learned  to  perceive  through  experi- 
ence and  education  form  an  integral  part.  The 
aesthetic  attitude  may  follow  as  the  result  of  a 
critical  attitude,  but  it  is  not  identical  with  it. 

So  long  as  the  formal  elements,  the  modes  of 
presentation,  are  fully  appreciated,  the  story  or 
content  can  be  as  close  to  one's  every  interest  as  is 
consistent  with  the  purpose  of  the  artist.  Stu- 
dents of  literature  who  visit  a  melodrama  of  the 
old  type  are  able  to  enjoy  its  Elizabethan  form  of 
construction  even  though  the  subject  may  be  that 
of  a  celebrated  murder.  In  short,  it  is  by  increas- 
ing our  knowledge  of  the  formal  elements  of  art 
that  we  find  our  solution  for  the  dilemma. 

The  strength  of  the  formal  appeal  depends  upon 
both  the  talent  of  the  artist  and  the  experience  of 
the  appreciator.  By  reason  of  the  cleverness  of 
his  technique,  the  master  may  with  impunity 
present  content  of  little  distance  and  the  appreci- 
ator or  connoisseur  by  reason  of  his  knowledge  of 
the  formal   elements   maintains   his  attitude  no 


80  THE  AESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

matter  how  much  there  is  of  content,  or  how  close 
it  may  be.  It  follows  that  the  public  should  be 
educated  to  observe  the  relations  in  art.  It  should 
know  the  value  of  lines  and  colors  and  the  laws  of 
the  drama.  It  should  be  trained  to  distinguish  the 
pitch  of  tones  and  the  various  overtones;  to  recog- 
nize the  musical  intervals,  the  "feel"  of  lines,  the 
pose  of  statues  and  the  conflict  of  forces,  and  the 
many  other  elements  which  are  included  under  the 
term  formal.  Courses  in  the  history  of  art  should 
lay  emphasis  upon  the  development  of  this  side 
of  art,  provided  it  is  made  clear  that  this  is  only 
one  element  in  appreciation.  If  that  is  done  artists 
need  be  less  concerned  about  the  attitude  of  their 
public.  Their  works  will  be  judged  according  to 
their  purely  aesthetic  value  and  the  enjoyment  will 
be  conditioned  by  a  response  of  the  entire  organ- 
ism. 

A  certain  balance  depending  upon  circumstances 
must  therefore  be  maintained  between  the  two 
sources  of  the  appeal,  that  of  the  form  and  that  of 
the  content.  Unless  the  formal  is  not  prominent 
the  art  will  not  stand  much  content,  and  conversely, 
if  there  is  little  content,  there  will  be  a  hmited  field 
of  aesthetic  influence  unless  the  form  is  made  suf- 
ficiently evident,  as  is  the  case  in  decorative  de- 
signs and  music  which  depend  almost  entirely 
upon  their  formal  appeal. 

In  the  explanation  of  the  depth  of  the  appeal, 
one  may  find  the  reason  why  certain  works  of  art 
endure  and  others  disappear.     In  the  complex  of 


DEGREES  OF  PERSONAL  APPEAL        81 

impulses  that  make  up  the  personality  it  can  be 
assumed  that  some  are  more  fundamental  than 
others.  There  are  the  desires  and  wishes  of  the 
moment,  purely  local  and  individual;  beyond  these 
are  others  of  a  more  general  character  belonging 
to  the  inhabitants  of  a  district;  then  come  those 
peculiar  to  the  race;  and  finally  those  which  are 
the  foundation  of  human  character.  ^  It  is  these 
last  that  the  great  and  enduring  masterpieces 
touch,  and  the  greater  the  art,  the  more  com- 
pletely are  these  impulses  involved.  The  works 
of  such  artists  as  Homer,  Praxiteles,  Da  Vinci, 
Shakespeare  occur  to  one.  They  are  the  creation 
of  men  who  are  above  nationality  and  who  are 
claimed  by  all  countries.  Even  during  the  World 
War,  when  passions  ran  high  and  alien  products 
were  barred,  it  seemed  absurd  not  to  present  the 
classical  works  of  the  enemy  in  music  and  drama, 
for  they  are  the  products  and  property  of  the  hu- 
man race.  It  is  the  depth  of  the  appeal  to  deep- 
lying,  fundamental  reactions  of  the  race  which  has 
caused  the  simple  folk-lore  and  folk  music  to  en- 
dure, and  it  is  the  same  factor  which  has  pre- 
served certain  compositions  which  technically  are 
inferior  art. 

In  industrial  art,  the  very  fact  that  the  object 
has  a  twofold  purpose  makes  it  more  diflficult  at 

^  H.  Taine  in  his  essay  "On  the  Ideal  in  Art"  {Lectures  on  Art,  vol.  I.,  pp. 
210-226,  translated  by  John  Durand)  describes  "  the  various  layers  of  ideas 
and  sentiments"  in  man.  These  are,  1st  "the  grafted  manners"  which 
last  a  few  years;  2d,  the  ideas  of  a  generation;  3d  those  of  an  historic 
period  like  the  Middle  Ages;  4th,  "the  primitive  substratum." 


82  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

times  to  view  the  products  as  things  of  beauty, 
than  in  the  case  of  other  forms  of  artistic  expres- 
sion. Just  as,  however,  a  word  if  repeated  a  suf- 
ficient number  of  times  loses  its  meaning  and 
becomes,  as  it  were,  *' hollow  sound,"  so  in  regard 
to  household  utensils,  after  we  have  become  ac- 
customed to  them,  they  may  lose  for  us  much  of 
their  meaning  and  appear  merely  as  objects  of 
shape  and  color.  There  is  another  factor  that  in- 
fluences the  aesthetic  judgment  of  some  persons 
during  the  early  period  of  acquisition,  namely,  that 
their  pleasure  is  very  much  determined  by  the  fact 
of  possession,  by  the  price,  etc. — attitudes  cer- 
tainly opposed  to  the  aesthetic,  and  it  often  takes 
considerable  time  for  these  considerations  to  dis- 
appear from  their  mind.  At  first,  they  are  un- 
certain whether  they  like  the  object  aesthetically 
or  not.  It  is  very  difficult  to  get  in  the  proper 
frame  of  mind  for  such  judgment.  After  several 
days'  acquaintance  with  such  an  object,  however, 
we  suddenly  see  it  clearly:  it  is  as  if  a  veil  had 
fallen  from  our  eyes,  and  we  know  positively 
whether  we  like  it  or  not.  It  has  taken  time  to 
complete  the  adjustment  from  one  attitude  to 
the  other,  and  to  make  a  sufficiently  true  aesthetic 
analysis  for  a  clear  decision.  In  the  appreciation 
of  domestic  architecture  this  is  particularly  notice- 
able. From  the  architect's  sketch  we  can  estimate 
the  artistic  effect  of  a  house,  but  during  construc- 
tion and  immediately  after  completion,  we  are 
so  occupied  with  our  adjustment  to  it  as  a  place 


DEGREES  OF  PERSONAL  APPEAL        83 

of  abode,  that  it  is  sometimes  impossible  to  form 
an  opinion  as  to  its  beauty.  In  that  case  it  is  only 
after  some  weeks  or  months  that  we  feel  certain 
that  our  perception  of  line  is  suflficiently  abstract 
to  be  a  reliable  basis  for  a  truly  aesthetic  reaction. 
Indeed,  sometimes  we  realize  as  in  a  flash  and  with 
a  feeling  of  surprise  that  the  house  is  not  entirely 
pleasing.  Finally,  it  may  be  said  that  a  lapse  of 
time  is  often  necessary  also  in  regard  to  objects 
which  are  primarily  works  of  art,  such  as  pictures 
and  sculpture,  especially  when  the  idea  of  rarity 
and  sense  of  possession  are  prominent. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE  (Continued) 

§  1.  Aids  for  the  .Esthetic  Attitude  in  the 
Various  Arts 

In  the  preceding  chapter  we  considered  for  the 
most  part  the  mental  factors  in  the  aesthetic  at- 
titude. It  remains  to  enumerate  some  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  objects  which  influence  this  at- 
titude, and  especially  their  bearing  upon  distance. 
The  first  question  is  concerned  with  the  relative 
strength  of  the  appeal  of  the  various  arts.  Toward 
which  form  of  beauty  do  we  have  the  least  dis- 
tance? It  will  probably  be  agreed  that  music 
being,  as  has  been  stated,  the  most  formal  of  the 
arts,  induces  the  greatest  distance  on  the  part  of 
the  audience,  and  that  the  drama  creates  the  least 
distance,  but  the  ranking  of  the  other  arts  is  open 
to  criticism.  A  tentative  arrangement  would  be, 
ranking  from  most  to  least  distance:  music,  liter- 
ature, fine  arts,  sculpture,  architecture,  drama,  in- 
cluding dancing.  Such  a  scheme  has  not  very 
much  importance,  however,  for  so  much  depends 
upon  the  various  factors  within  the  art  itself.  For 
example,  highly  idealized  drama  may  have  much 
more  distance-producing  effect  under  certain  con- 
ditions, than  certain  musical  compositions  of  the 


THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE  IN  THE  ARTS    85 

modern  school.  It  is,  indeed,  less  profitable  to 
discuss  the  relative  distance  values  of  the  various 
arts  than  to  examine  those  factors  within  the  art 
which  produce  and  those  which  reduce  the  human 
appeal. 

A  familiar  experience  is  that  of  the  loss  of  dis- 
tance which  occurs  in  witnessing  a  production  by  a 
stock  company.  After  we  have  seen  several  plays 
by  the  same  company  we  become  familiar  with  the 
personality  of  the  actors  apart  from  the  particular 
role  they  may  be  taking.  There  is  then  aroused  in 
us  a  conflict  between  his  part  in  the  play  and  our 
idea  of  the  actor  as  an  individual,  independent  of 
the  requirements  of  the  plot.  .  This  latter  concep- 
tion takes  us  frequently  beyond  the  frame  of  the 
drama.  The  actor  stands  out  in  the  picture  as  a 
man  we  know. 

A.  In  Music 

So  long  as  music  remains  strictly  formal,  it 
induces  extreme  distance.  With  the  introduction 
of  a  "program,"  it  becomes  more  difficult  to  hold 
an  aesthetic  attitude,  and  it  is  for  that  reason  that 
"program  "  music  is  often  decried.  Attempts  have 
been  made  to  add  content  to  music  by  the  simul- 
taneous presentation  of  illustrations,  as  for  ex- 
ample the  flashing  on  the  screen  of  pictures  by 
Nicolas  Poussin,  accompanied  by  music  represent- 
ative of  that  artist's  moods.  A  certain  success 
may  be  achieved  by  such  methods,  but  they  are 
usually  condemned  by  music  lovers,  who  are  pro- 


86  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

verbially  most  jealous  guardians  of  the  distance 
of  their  favorite  form  of  art. 

Although  music  needs  few  artificial  factors  for 
enhancing  distance,  yet  greater  effect  is  obtained 
when  an  orchestra  is  enclosed  in  the  frame  of  the 
stage  and  raised  slightly  from  the  floor,  thus  separ- 
ating it  somewhat  from  the  audience.  The  differ- 
ence is  slight,  but  nevertheless  real  and  can  be 
readily  realized  by  comparing  the  effect  of  a 
drawing-room  recital  with  that  of  the  concert 
hall.  The  change  is  due  not  alone  to  the  fact  that 
the  effect  of  sound  is  different  when  heard  at  a 
greater  distance  or  under  better  acoustical  condi- 
tions, there  is  also  a  subtle  difference  in  the  quality 
of  our  attitude. 

B.  In  Architecture 

The  ordinary  observer  of  architecture  is  pri- 
marily interested  in  it  as  a  place  in  which  to  live. 
The  more  this  purpose  is  concealed,  the  greater  the 
distance  produced.  When  the  mass  and  lines  are 
made  prominent  it  is  relatively  easy  for  most  to 
consider  it  from  the  viewpoint  of  beauty.  The 
effect  of  the  buildings  of  New  York  City  from  the 
Harbor  or  of  some  of  the  modern  seaside  hotels  il- 
lustrates this  point.  It  has  been  a  canon  of  ar- 
chitecture that  buildings  should  honestly  repre- 
sent the  use  for  which  they  were  constructed.  In 
order  to  do  this  and  yet  to  restrain  its  assertiveness 
as  a  dwelling,  many  architects  strive  to  make  their 
houses  as  low  as  possible.    They  thus  produce  the 


THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE  IN  THE  ARTS    87 

effect  of  their  having  sprung  from  the  soil  with  the 
trees  and  foliage.  Another  obvious  reason  for 
this  tendency,  as  will  be  seen  later,  is  in  order  to 
produce  a  unity  between  the  dwelling  and  the 
landscape.  The  triumphal  arch  is  a  very  good 
example  of  a  form  of  architecture  which  has  been 
taken  out  of  its  natural  setting.  Its  original  pur- 
pose as  a  gateway  is  less  apparent  and  it  is  by  most 
judged  and  frequently  condemned  on  purely  aes- 
thetic grounds. 

C.  In  Sculpture 

Sculpture  in  representing  lifelike  figures  in  three 
dimensional  forms  sets  off  the  anti-aesthetic  tend- 
ency. Much  has  therefore  been  done  to  increase 
its  distance.  It  would  be  difficult  to  view  aesthetic- 
ally a  statue  which  was  in  natural  colors  and  in 
modern  costume,  and  which  stood  with  feet  firmly 
planted  on  the  floor  and  in  the  act  of  walking. 
Upon  a  certain  well-constructed  mountain  road 
there  is  the  statue  of  the  civil  engineer,  life  size, 
with  frock  coat  and  top  hat,  about  to  step  off  a 
rock.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  see  in  this  any- 
thing but  the  grotesque.  The  cast  iron  dogs  and 
other  objects  which  sometimes  adorn  the  lawns  of 
the  newly  rich  are  very  obvious  examples  of  the 
disturbing  effect  of  lack  of  distance,  and  this  is 
apart  from  the  pain  caused  by  total  absence  of 
artistic  value.  As  soon  as  statues  are  placed  upon 
pedestals,  they  are  separated  from  their  surround- 
ings, and  distance  is  increased.    It  does  not  seem 


88  THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

advisable  to  use  colors,  especially  if  the  statues 
are  very  realistic.  It  is  true  that  although  the 
archaic  statues  of  the  Greeks  are  tinted,  yet  it  is 
very  easy  for  us  to  see  their  beauty,  nor  is  there  a 
tendency  to  shift  our  attitude.  It  must  be  re- 
membered, however,  that  in  the  first  place,  the 
figures  are  idealized,  and  secondly  the  factor  of 
time  strongly  influences  the  setting,  and  thirdly 
the  formal  side  is  superbly  represented  and  holds 
the  attention.  On  the  other  hand,  what  the  effect 
was  on  the  Greeks  at  that  time  is  a  matter  of  con- 
jecture. As  has  been  stated  above,  the  aesthetic 
attitude  tends  to  break  down  before  the  Roman 
statues  which  are  more  realistic,  nearer  in  time 
and  inferior  in  line  to  the  Greek  statues.  It  re- 
quires a  very  good  statue  indeed  to  hold  the  entire 
aesthetic  interest  if  it  is  colored.  Sculptors  have 
almost  always  avoided  clothing  their  figures  in 
the  style  of  the  times.  It  is  not  merely  for  the 
sake  of  dignity  that  figures  of  public  men  are  so 
frequently  clothed  in  the  toga.  The  costume  is  a 
compromise  between  the  nude  and  the  more 
modern  clothes.  Even  though  the  statue  is  in 
white  marble  and  upon  a  pedestal,  if  it  represents, 
let  us  say,  a  recently  departed  queen  dressed  in  the 
habit  of  the  day,  including  lace  parasol  and  be- 
feathered  hat,  there  is  a  very  decided  jar  to  our 
aesthetic  sense  as  we  come  upon  it  in  the  midst  of 
the  flowers  and  trees  of  Her  Majesty's  garden.  If 
it  were  life  size,  the  shock  would  be  greater  than 
if  conspicuously  larger  or  smaller.     Further,  the 


THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE  IN  THE  ARTS    89 

railings  around  public  statues  and  the  fences 
about  houses  not  only  protect  the  statues  and 
houses  from  material  injury,  but  also  act  to  some 
extent,  as  a  distance-enhancing  factor. 

In  sculpture  as  soon  as  more  than  one  ifigure  is 
introduced,  the  distance  is  greatly  decreased,  due 
to  the  added  content.  There  is  a  tendency  to  avoid 
numerous  figures  except  in  reliefs,  where  the  effect 
of  the  third  dimension  is  lessened.  Also,  suggested 
movement  within  the  group  is  kept  at  a  minimum 
when  the  aesthetic  effect  is  carefully  considered. 
In  Egyptian  art,  the  figures  are  represented  in 
conventional  and  artificial  attitudes  which,  to- 
gether with  the  formal  treatment  of  the  figures  as 
a  whole,  inspires  great  distance  in  the  modern 
spectator,  and  must  at  the  time  have  increased  the 
desired  religious  effect  by  inhibiting  to  some  ex- 
tent mundane  thoughts. 

D.  In  Fine  Arts 

When  we  turn  from  sculpture  to  pictures,  we 
leave  the  world  of  three  dimensions  for  that  of 
flat  surfaces.  No  matter  how  realistically  the 
painter  may  represent  the  third  dimension  in  his 
pictures,  we  are  nevertheless  adjusted  to  a  flat 
surface  so  far  as  our  visual  apparatus  is  concerned, 
and  that  in  itself  is  a  very  strong  factor  in  distance, 
and  one  which  permits  the  safe  employment  of 
many  more  realistic  touches  than  the  sculptor 
would  care  to  risk.  Color  is  here  in  place.  The 
nature  of  the  costume  makes  relatively  little  differ- 


90  THE  ^ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

ence,  and  many  more  details  may  be  included  in 
the  incidents  portrayed.  That  does  not  mean, 
however,  that  the  degree  to  which  the  space  is 
represented  does  not  affect  one's  attitude  in  ad- 
miring pictures.  In  this  regard  there  is  a  notice- 
ably different  effect  between  one's  attitude  before 
a  picture  of  Van  Eyck  where  space  is  flattened  out, 
and  before  a  painting  at  the  height  of  the  Renais- 
sance where  the  eye  travels  down  long  vistas  of 
space.  The  frame  is  almost  essential  to  the  pic- 
ture, and  after  what  has  been  said,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  enlarge  upon  its  functions.  It  is  one  of  the 
less  subtle  though  usual  methods  of  distancing 
the  object,  and  is  therefore  most  frequently  used 
as  an  illustration  of  what  is  meant  by  isolating 
a  work  of  art.^ 

The  result  of  accentuating  those  features  of  a 
picture  which  have  the  strongest  human  appeal 
and  removing  the  isolating  influences  of  the  frame 
may  be  seen  in  the  Wiertz  Museum  in  Brussels, 

*  In  Mr.  Arthur  Symons'  book  Studies  in  Seven  Arts,  p.  141,  we  find 
Whistler's  opinion  of  the  value  of  the  frame.  "It  was  one  of  Whistler's 
aims  in  portrait-painting  to  establish  a  reasonable  balance  between  the  man 
as  he  sits  in  the  chair,  and  the  image  of  the  man  reflected  back  to  you  from 
the  canvas.  'The  one  aim,'  he  wrote,  'of  the  unsuspecting  painter  is  to  make 
his  man  "stand  out"  from  the  frame — ^never  doubting  that,  on  the  contrary, 
he  should,  and  in  truth  absolutely  does,  stand  nrithin  the  frame — and  at  a 
depth  behind  it  equal  to  the  distance  at  which  the  painter  sees  his  model. 
The  frame  is,  indeed,  the  window  through  which  the  painter  looks  at  his 
model,  and  nothing  could  be  more  offensively  inartistic  than  this  brutal 
attempt  to  thrust  the  model  on  the  hither-side  of  this  window! '  Here,  as 
always,  it  was  the  just  limit  of  things  which  Whistler  perceived  and  re- 
spected. He  never  proposed,  in  a  picture,  to  give  you  something  which  you 
could  mistake  for  reality;  but  frankly,  a  picture,  a  thing  which  was  em- 
phatically not  nature,  because  it  was  art." 


THE  ^ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE  IN  THE  ARTS    91 

where  some  of  the  paintings,  as  realistic  as  the 
talent  of  the  artist  could  make  them,  are  viewed 
through  a  small  opening  in  a  screen  surrounding 
the  picture,  thus  increasing  the  naturalness  through 
the  appearance  of  greater  depth.  The  intention 
here,  however,  seems  evidently  to  have  been  to 
startle  rather  than  to  please  aesthetically. 

No  serious  artist  would  think  of  allowing  his 
figures  to  break  the  line  of  the  frame,  for  he  knows 
that  in  so  doing  he  will  influence  the  attitude  of 
his  public  as  well  as  that  of  himself.  A  good  ex- 
ample of  such  an  effect,  where  in  fact  everything 
is  done  to  decrease  distance,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
modern  panorama  where  real  guns,  wheels,  wagons, 
and  human  figures  are  placed  in  the  foreground  in 
front  of  the  canvas.  This  together  with  the  enor- 
mous size  of  the  canvas,  which  almost  precludes 
the  possibility  of  unifying  the  scene,  not  to  men- 
tion the  frequent  lack  of  artistic  talent  displayed, 
makes  an  appraisal  from  the  standpoint  of  beauty, 
practically  impossible  for  most  observers.  It  is 
indeed  the  work  of  the  craftsman  rather  than  the 
artist.  Even  such  a  trivial  thing  as  the  embossing 
of  the  gold  on  canvasses  such  as  those  of  Crevelli, 
or  the  insertion  of  bits  of  colored  glass  or  jewels, 
unless  they  are  seen  at  a  great  distance,  interfere 
with  one's  mood  by  too  realistically  suggesting 
actual  objects  in  all  three  dimensions.  The  strong 
distance-producing  effect  of  a  two  dimensional 
representation  of  three  dimensional  form  may  be 
further  noticed  in  regard  to  the  motion  picture. 


92  THE  ^ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

The  factor  of  motion  and  the  photographic  repre- 
sentation would  be  hard  to  respond  to  other  than 
non-sesthetically,  especially  as  the  formal  elements 
so  frequently  have  little  artistic  value,  if  it  were 
not  that  the  scene  is  unfolded  on  a  plane  surface. 
This  fact,  together  with  the  unaccustomed  and 
unconscious  set  of  the  organism  in  fusing  the 
rapidly  succeeding  pictures  into  the  perception  of 
movement,  aids  one  in  maintaining,  at  least  at 
times,  an  aesthetically  critical  attitude  toward  the 
play.  If  other  things  were  equal,  that  is,  if  the 
formal  side  and  the  nature  of  the  content  were  the 
same  in  the  photoplay  and  in  the  legitimate  drama, 
it  would  follow,  from  what  has  just  been  stated, 
that  the  aesthetic  attitude  would  be  more  readily 
maintained  before  the  photoplay.  Most  of  us 
have  probably  experienced  this  at  times.' 

E.  In  the  Drama  and  Literature 

The  proscenium  frame  acts  in  the  same  way  for 
the  play  as  does  the  frame  for  the  picture,  and  just 
as  it  decreases  the  distance  to  have  an  encroach- 
ment upon  the  outline  of  the  frame,  in  the  same, 
if  not  in  greater  degree,  is  the  aesthetic  effect 
spoiled  when  a  bridge  or  runway  is  built  between 
the  stage  and  the  rear  of  the  orchestra  seats  to 
enable  actresses  to  walk  over  the  shoulders  of  the 
audience.  2 

^  Miinsterberg  has  described  several  factors  of  distance  {Principles  of 
Art  Education,  pp.  37-40). 

*  Some  of  the  modem  methods  of  obtaining  distance  in  stage  scenery  are 
described  in  Oliver  M.  Sayler's  The  Russian  Theatre  Under  the  Revolution. 


THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE  IN  THE  ARTS    93 

In  regard  to  the  scenic  effect,  the  critics  of  the 
drama  differ  widely.  The  pecuHar  beauty  of  a 
Shakespeare  play,  when  given  with  the  meagre 
scenery  of  the  Elizabethan  drama,  is  of  course  due 
in  part  to  the  distance  lent  by  the  stage  arrange- 
ments. Realistic  scenery,  on  the  other  hand,  has 
its  advantages,  but  it  requires  a  very  cleverly 
developed  technique  and  a  theme  of  fundamental 
importance  if  the  play  is  to  remain  an  aesthetic 
object  rather  than  a  bit  of  real  life.  The  present 
tendency  in  the  direction  of  simplified  and  sug- 
gestive, rather  than  realistic,  setting  has  done 
much  to  enhance  the  beauty  of  the  play,  and  to 
hold  the  aesthetic  attention  of  the  audience.  For 
example,  in  Mr.  Gordon  Craig's  setting  for  a  forest 
in  the  play  of  Hamlet  there  are  none  of  the  usual 
details  of  moss-covered  rocks,  twisted  roots  and 
scattered  bushes — ^nothing  but  the  tall,  gaunt 
forms  of  the  trees,  grouped  as  masses  of  dark, 
oppressive  shadows  that  almost  hide  the  moonlight 
beyond  and  cast  a  spell  of  deep  mystery  on  the 
scene.  1     In  this  way,  a  strong  stimulus  is  given 

On  pages  40  and  41  we  find  "  If  you  are  a  very  naive  and  proper  playgoer  you 
will  still  feel  only  subconsciously  the  distance  of  the  scene,  its  air  of  half- 
reality;  and  you  will  not  think  to  inquire  of  the  surroundmg  circumstances 
how  this  result  is  attained.  But  if  you  are  as  keenly  interested  in  how  things 
are  done  in  the  theatre  as  you  are  in  what  is  done,  you  will  see  now  in  the 
full,  but  not  too  full  light  of  the  scene  that  it  is  all  being  played  at  least 
twenty-five  feet  back  of  the  curtain  line  and  in  addition  behind  a  fine  meshed 
gauze  screen.  Only  dimly  can  you  see  the  curtains  that  lead  back  to  this 
illuminated  part  of  the  stage,  for  the  light  is  so  admirably  controlled  that 
the  intervening  distance  is  potent  but  not  obtrusive." 

1  The  illustration,  which  is  for  Act  I,  scene  4,  of  Hamlet,  is  in  E.  G.  Craig's 
On  the  Art  of  the  Theatre,  p.  136. 


94  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

to  the  imagination,  which  is  an  important  function 
in  the  enjoyment  of  beauty,  but  there  is  Uttle  to 
excite  those  impulses  which  are  opposed  to  the 
unity  of  the  play.  Such  treatment,  by  its  general 
nature,  apart  from  any  particular  merit,  is  almost 
unanimously  judged  to  be  artistic. 

When  the  play  itself  has  much  distance,  as  in  Mr. 
Granville  Barker's  production  of  Anatole  France's 
The  Dumb  Wife,  the  aesthetic  effect  of  the  highly 
idealized  and  formal  settings  is  readily  obtained. 
The  distance  is  very  great,  yet  the  appeal  of  the 
beauty  of  construction  is  so  evident  that  the  bond 
between  play  and  audience  is  maintained  with 
ease.  The  highly  conventionalized  and  fantastic 
settings  and  costumes  of  Bakst,  with  their  un- 
usual play  of  strong  colors  and  sharply  contrasting 
lines,  have  considerable  distance  value,  not  only 
because  of  the  departure  from  realism  but  also  on 
account  of  the  boldness  with  which  the  formal 
elements  of  the  scene  are  presented  and  forced 
upon  the  audience.  The  Urban  scenery  has  fre- 
quently a  similar  effect.  Even  where  the  scenes 
are  realistically  represented  the  distance  is  pre- 
served through  the  strength  of  color  combinations 
and  the  artistic  arrangement  of  lines. 

When  dancing  is  presented  within  the  frame  of 
the  stage  it  becomes  more  readily  a  unified  series 
of  graceful  movements  and  less  a  conscious  re- 
minder of  personal  experience,  and  it  is  still  farther 
removed  when  the  postures  are  conventionalized 
like  those  seen  in  early  Egyptian  sculpture  or 


RELATION  OF  BEAUTY  TO  TRUTH   96 

when  the  movements  are  timed  to  express  the 
motifs  of  classical  music  as  in  the  dancing  of  the 
Duncan  School. 

In  literature,  there  is  merely  the  symbol  to 
represent  the  object,  so  that  there  is  little  direct 
appeal  to  the  senses  so  far  as  the  content  is  con- 
cerned. On  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  stronger  stimulus 
for  thought  and  although  it  is  comparatively  easy 
to  remain  absorbed  in  the  story,  aesthetic  enjoy- 
ment is  likely  to  be  derived  by  the  general  reader 
more  from  the  factors  of  suspense  and  release  than 
from  any  other  intrinsic  merits  of  the  literary 
form  as  such.  Poetry  has  the  advantage  of  prose 
in  its  formal  appeal  and  consequently  in  the  dis- 
tance induced  in  the  reader.  The  value  of  this  for 
the  aesthetic  effect  has  been  so  clearly  recognized 
that  those  modern  writers  who  are  in  revolt  against 
conventional  forms  of  poetry  have  cast  prose  in  a 
form  which  brings  out  the  sound  and  rhythm 
values;  at  the  same  time,  through  the  content 
they  call  up  colors  and  shapes  of  visual  percep- 
tion, thus  combining  with  the  factors  peculiar 
to  literature,  those  of  fine  arts  and  music. 

§  2.  Relation  of  Beauty  to  Truth 

From  what  has  been  said  regarding  the  attitude 
it  is  possible  to  separate  ethical  considerations 
from  those  of  aesthetics.  There  are  several  ques- 
tions involved.  In  the  first  place,  must  art  rep- 
resent the  truth  or  may  it  under  certain  condi- 
tions deceive.?     Secondly,   should  art  be  moral, 


96  THE  .ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

and  lastly,  should  art  point  a  moral?  Regarding 
the  first,  Ruskin  has  taken  a  very  strong  stand  in 
the  "Lamp  of  Truth."  ^  He  says  that  when  in 
architecture  there  is  deliberate  deception  the  pro- 
cedure must  be  condemned.  When,  however,  there 
is  no  chance  of  our  accepting  the  representation 
as  genuine,  when  there  is  every  evidence  that  it 
is  an  imitation,  then  the  method  is  legitimate. 
The  fan  tracery  on  the  roof  of  the  Milan  Cathedral 
is  so  realistically  done  and  so  far  aloft  that  it 
easily  deceives.  "This  is,  of  course,  gross  degrada- 
tion." On  the  other  hand,  on  the  roof  of  the 
Sistine  Chapel  there  are  architectural  designs  in 
grissaille  which  blend  beautifully  with  the  fres- 
coes. The  unity  is  perfect  and  as  the  frescoes  are 
known  to  be  paintings,  the  grissaille  work  is  also 
perceived  as  such.  There  is  therefore  no  decep- 
tion and  the  form  of  decoration  is  permissible.  A 
similar  comparison  is  made  between  the  plaster 
of  the  f  agades  of  the  houses  of  Venice  and  Verona, 
which  is  decorated  with  frescoes  and  the  cement 
which  covers  brick  and  is  marked  off  to  represent 
blocks  of  stone.  2  The  granite  foundation  of  the 
staircase  of  the  British  Museum  is  "mocked  at  its 
landing  by  an  imitation,  the  more  blamable  be- 
cause tolerably  successful.  The  only  effect  of  it  is 
to  cast  a  suspicion  upon  the  true  stones  below,  and 
upon  every  bit  of  granite  afterward  encountered. 
One  feels  a  doubt,  after  it,  of  the  honesty  of  Memnon 

*  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture. 

'  Ibid.,  Illustrated  Library  £ditioD»  Colonial  Press  Company,  pp.  48-49. 


RELATION  OF  BEAUTY  TO  TRUTH   97 

himself.'*  ^  Veneer  such  as  that  used  in  San  Marco 
in  Venice,  even  though  it  is  of  the  most  glorious 
color,  is  deprecated.  According  to  Ruskin,  it  is 
as  reprehensible  for  an  architect  to  use  imitation 
decorations  as  for  a  woman  to  wear  false  jewelry. 
These  and  the  many  other  illustrations  give 
excellent  examples  of  a  certain  confusion  of  issue 
which  frequently  occurs.  There  is  first  the  mere 
fact  of  deception  as  such,  judged  according  to 
ethical  values,  and  secondly  the  skill  of  the  de- 
ception, and  thirdly  the  effect  of  the  knowledge 
of  the  nature  of  the  deceiving  material  upon  the 
total  harmony.  If  an  imitation  is  carried  out  so 
cleverly  that  one  cannot  detect  it,  unless  one  is 
told,  then  the  displeasure  due  to  the  deception  is 
the  result  of  an  ethical  and  not  an  aesthetic  at- 
titude. It  is  then  every  individual's  choice  to 
assume  such  an  ethical  attitude,  but  it  will  un- 
doubtedly interfere  with  the  sense  of  beauty.  In 
fact,  it  will  probably  inhibit  any  aesthetic  reaction, 
and  it  should  be  recognized  that  the  judgment 
then  is  not  upon  the  intrinsic  artistic  merit  of  the 
object.  It  should,  however,  in  the  case  of  a  clever 
imitation  be  quite  possible  to  abstract  from  any 
such  ethical  considerations  and  view  the  object 
entirely  from  the  standpoint  of  a  work  of  art. 
Ruskin  in  writing  upon  the  substitution  of  cast 
or  machine  work  for  hand  wrought  decoration, 
remarks:  "There  are  two  reasons,  both  weighty, 
against  this  practice;  one,  that  all  cast  and  ma- 

*  Op.  cU.,  p.  51. 


08  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

chine  work  is  bad,  as  work;  the  other,  that  it  is 
dishonest.  Of  its  badness,  I  shall  speak  in  an- 
other place,  that  being  evidently  no  efficient 
reason  against  its  use  when  other  cannot  be  had. 
Its  dishonesty,  however,  which,  to  my  mind,  is 
of  the  grossest  kind,  is,  I  think,  a  sufficient  reason 
to  determine  absolute  and  unconditional  rejection 
of  it."  ^  According  to  the  distinction  just  made 
between  the  attitudes,  the  rejection  on  account  of 
its  badness  is  founded  upon  artistic  merit,  and 
that  upon  its  dishonesty  upon  considerations  other 
than  those  of  beauty. 

In  regard  to  the  wearing  of  false  jewels,  it  is  ob- 
vious that  the  total  pleasure  is  greater  when  the 
jewels  are  genuine,  for  there  are  very  few  who  are 
not  to  a  slight  extent  influenced  by  the  monetary 
value.  If,  however,  one  is  entirely  concerned  with 
their  decorative  value,  if  the  pleasure  is  due  to  the 
color,  shape,  luster,  etc.,  then  it  is  the  beauty  alone 
that  counts.  The  attitude  is  strictly  aesthetic  and 
it  is  a  matter  of  indifference  that  they  are  imita- 
tions. In  fact,  it  may  be  that  the  imitations  are 
more  beautiful  and  are  therefore  preferred.  The 
same  remarks  apply  to  antique  furniture.  In 
collecting  such  objects,  most  of  us  prefer  originals. 
It  is  evident,  however,  that  the  interest  is  too  often 
upon  that  characteristic  alone.  It  is  rarity  that 
is  of  first  importance  and  not  beauty,  for  every- 
thing is  collected,  from  truly  beautiful  old  pieces 
of  furniture  to  tin  pans  and  door  knobs,  simply 

^  Op.  cU.,  p.  55. 


RELATION  OF  BEAUTY  TO  TRUTH   99 

because  it  is  old.  The  idea  of  deception  must 
be  prominent  in  the  mind  when  such  a  motive  is 
back  of  the  desire,  and  is  a  witness  to  the  non- 
aesthetic  set  of  the  individual,  although  it  must  be 
admitted  that  there  are  many  who  have  running 
parallel  to  this  desire  for  originals,  but  not  identical 
with  it,  a  strongly  developed  sense  of  beauty 
which,  however,  is  too  frequently  pushed  farther 
and  farther  into  the  background  of  consciousness 
with  the  growth  of  the  collecting  mania. 

In  the  presence  of  old  things,  it  is  very  diflScult, 
even  though  we  are  desirous  of  giving  a  judgment 
strictly  upon  the  beauty  of  the  object,  not  to  allow 
rarity  to  influence  us.  Miss  Kate  Gordon  has  made 
an  interesting  experiment  upon  the  judgment  of 
the  beauty  of  antique  rugs.  They  were  shown  to  a 
number  of  people  including  a  few  experts.  That 
the  experts  should  differ  from  the  others  was  to 
be  expected.  Several  of  them,  however,  confessed 
that  the  rarity  had  been  an  unavoidable  factor  in 
the  choice.  To  take  another  example  from  rugs, 
there  are  two  distinct  designs  of  the  Kulah  rug, 
one  with  parallel  stripes  in  the  border,  the  other 
with  a  more  complicated  design.  The  latter  design 
is  less  common  and  when  one  has  searched  for 
years  for  an  example  it  is  beyond  human  power 
to  inhibit  a  mingling  of  the  joy  of  the  discovery 
with  the  pleasure  in  its  intrinsic  beauty. 

The  desire  for  collecting  becomes  a  fetish  which 
kills  every  other  impulse.  It  is  rarely  that  one 
elicits  a  sympathetic  response  from  the  collector 


100  THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

of  coins  if  one  calls  his  attention  to  the  beauty  of 
the  design  of  one  of  his  less  valuable  pieces.  He 
will  probably  reply,  with  some  show  of  impatience, 
that  it  has  artistic  merit,  but  that  he  wants  to 
show  you  a  very  old  coin  that  he  has.  When  one 
is  buying  furniture  honestly  for  its  decorative 
effect,  if  the  price  is  merely  what  one  would  have 
to  pay  for  an  imitation,  then  the  question  whether 
or  not  it  is  an  original  should  not  occur.  We  pre- 
suppose, of  course,  that  one  knows  beauty  when  one 
sees  it.  Most  imitations  are  less  beautiful,  however, 
than  originals,  because  they  are  poor  imitations, 
so  that  ordinarily  one  feels  safer  in  accepting 
genuineness  as  an  indirect  criterion  rather  than 
to  rely  upon  one's  direct  perception  and  power  of 
analysis.  In  short,  it  can  be  stated  that  if  objects 
such  as  old  furniture  are  imitated  so  well  that  one 
cannot  tell  the  difference,  the  aesthetic  apprecia- 
tion of  the  imitation  should  be  as  high  as  that  of 
the  original,  and  it  should  be  recognized  if  one  de- 
sires to  be  entirely  honest  with  oneself,  that  any 
other  judgment  is  influenced  by  commercial  value, 
question  of  ethics,  or  degree  of  antiquity. 

To  return  for  a  moment  to  what  Ruskin  terms 
"surface  deceits,"  that  is  the  use  of  plaster  for 
stone,  veneer  for  solid  marble,  etc.,  there  is  a  con- 
sideration which  is  an  aesthetic  one  but  it  is  entirely 
apart  from  any  idea  of  deception  as  such.  Or- 
dinarily it  should  make  no  difference  in  the  actual 
beauty  whether  the  columns  in  St.  Isaacs  in  Petro- 
grad  are  of  solid  lapis  lazuli  or  not,  or  whether  the 


RELATION  OF  BEAUTY  TO  TRUTH     101 

marble  forming  the  walls  of  the  palace  ball  room  in 
Budapest  is  real  marble  or  only  painting  on  plaster. 
When,  however,  one  happens  to  know  that  plaster 
is  used  instead  of  a  more  solid  material,  one  feels 
an  uneasiness  from  one's  knowledge  of  the  nature 
of  the  substituted  material,  lest  there  be  not 
suflScient  strength  to  oppose  the  downward  pull  of 
gravity.  Architects  with  a  highly  developed  sense 
of  beauty,  lament  the  use  of  composition  slabs  for 
marble.  Unconsciously  the  weakness  of  the  ma- 
terial influences  their  total  set  toward  the  building, 
even  though  they  are  aware  that  the  structure  is 
suflSciently  well  supported  by  steel  girders.  The 
ideas  associated  by  experience  with  composition 
are  sufficient  to  change  one's  adjustments,  even 
though  one  is  aware  of  counteracting  influences. 
Psychology  has  shown  that  our  perception  is  con- 
stantly influenced  by  such  subconscious  or  semi- 
conscious factors.  This  is  readily  observed  in  the 
effect  of  size  on  the  weight  of  an  object.  Even 
though  we  may  know  that  the  two  objects  are  of 
equal  weight,  yet  if  they  are  of  unequal  size,  the 
larger  will  seem  the  lighter.  A  pound  of  feathers 
actually  feels  lighter  than  a  pound  of  lead.  If  it 
is  such  considerations  concerning  substitutes  which 
affect  our  judgments,  considerations  which  in- 
fluence one's  perception  of  those  very  features  of 
an  object  which  are  universally  acknowledged  to 
belong  to  its  beauty,  such  as  the  dynamic  quality 
of  lines  in  architecture,  then  the  attitude  has  re- 
mained an   aesthetic  one.     If  based  upon  such 


102  THE  AESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

features  of  experience,  arguments  against  surface 
deceit  find  a  legitimate  place  in  treatises  on  beauty. 

§  3.  Relation  of  Beauty  to  Morality 

Should  ethical  principles  influence  art,  and  if  so, 
to  what  extent?  There  are  two  extremes  which 
have  been  reached  in  this  regard.  In  all  ages, 
there  have  been  those  who  have  tried  to  place  a 
ban  upon  anything  which  seemed  risque  or  mor- 
ally unconventional.  When  such  a  movement 
has  reached  any  considerable  magnitude,  a  re- 
action has  set  in  from  the  side  of  the  artist.  Those 
who  advocate  art  for  art's  sake  then  proclaim 
that  any  subject  is  entirely  permissible  provided 
it  is  artistically  portrayed,  and  they  have  fre- 
quently attempted  to  carry  out  this  principle. 
Modern  secession  galleries,  notably  in  Germany, 
have  contained  pictures  that  have  sometimes 
shocked  and  more  often  disgusted  the  most  ex- 
perienced art  critics.  Yet  even  such  extremists 
have  stopped  short  of  some  subjects.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  literature  and  the  drama. 

The  problem  can  be  decided  upon  purely  aes- 
thetic grounds,  as  the  artist  desires,  and  not  neces- 
sarily from  the  standpoint  of  the  moralist.  If  the 
content  makes  too  strong  an  appeal  to  immoral 
tendencies,  then  it  is  reprehensible  from  the  artistic 
point  of  view,  for  it  tends  to  create  too  little  dis- 
tance and  the  artist  loses  his  audience.  There  are 
some  incidents  in  life  which  the  human  race  is 
unanimous  in   finding  repulsive,   and  these  will 


RELATION  OF  BEAUTY  TO  MORALITY    103 

always  be  barred  from  artistic  representation. 
For  the  rest,  much  depends  upon  the  set  of  the 
mind  of  the  audience  and  the  artistic  merit  of  the 
work,  as  has  been  pointed  out  at  length  in  regard 
to  the  attitude  in  general.  It  is  impossible  to 
formulate  general  rules,  or  to  say  what  may  be 
included  and  what  not,  for  it  depends  entirely 
upon  the  artist  and  the  audience  to  which  he  wishes 
to  appeal.  When  the  artistic  value  of  a  work  of 
art  is  universally  recognized  as  very  high,  then 
those  who  would  withdraw  it  from  the  public 
gaze,  reveal  thereby  their  own  state  of  mind.  To 
insist  upon  the  draping  of  Greek  statues  of  the 
classical  period  or  to  forbid  the  production  of  cer- 
tain dramas  of  acknowledged  merit  are  not  so 
much  crimes  against  art  as  an  insult  to  the  com- 
munity. On  the  other  hand,  it  is  even  more  rep- 
rehensible to  appeal  as  is  frequently  done  to  the 
baser  motives  of  the  human  race  under  the  cover  of 
art.  Even  when  the  object  has  some  artistic 
value,  it  is  very  probable  that  the  public  will  not 
respond  as  intended  to  the  art  form,  but  rather 
to  the  suggestive  content.  It  ceases  to  be  an  ob- 
ject of  art  and  there  exists  then  sufficient  reason 
why  it  should  be  withdrawn  from  that  particular 
community.  Even  the  statue  of  the  Venus  de 
Milo  or  Praxiteles'  Hermes  would  have  no  place 
in  an  environment  where  it  was  accepted  merely 
as  the  representation  of  a  naked  human  form. 

The  next  question  is  whether  art  should  teach 
a  moral.    It  is  true  that  the  appreciation  of  beauty 


104  THE  ^ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

as  such  has  a  moral  value.  The  very  nature  of  the 
aesthetic  attitude,  which  induces  a  pleasure  en- 
tirely free  from  self-interest  in  the  narrow  sense, 
makes  it  an  adjustment  of  the  organism  which  is 
extremely  commendable  from  the  standpoint  of 
ethics.  For  the  time  one  is  free  from  the  struggle 
which  is  made  necessary  by  social  conditions  and 
is  enabled  to  attain  a  broader  and  more  generous 
view  of  the  relation  of  things. 

This  is  not,  however,  what  is  generally  meant  by 
the  question.  It  is  put  by  those  who  feel  that  there 
should  be  some  explicit  utilization  of  art  apart 
from  the  mere  arousal  of  pleasure.  In  fact,  there 
are  extremists  who  believe  that  even  the  pleasure 
factor  should  be  subordinated  to  the  development 
of  morality,  and  if  it  cannot  serve  that  purpose  art 
should  be  entirely  prohibited.  That  is  a  question 
for  ethics  to  decide.  ^Esthetics  can  merely  indi- 
cate that  as  soon  as  a  work  of  art  communicates 
nothing  but  a  lesson  to  the  observer,  it  ceases  to 
be  for  him  a  work  of  art.  It  is  unnecessary,  after 
what  has  been  said,  to  show  why  the  experience 
is  not  an  aesthetic  one.  So  far  as  art  is  concerned, 
there  is  no  reason  why  there  should  be  a  moral 
appeal.  It  seems  futile  from  the  standpoint  of 
aesthetics  to  ask  the  purpose  of  the  play  or  the  pic- 
ture or  the  tale.  Some  plays  are  written  without  any 
idea  of  communicating  ethical  principles.  Some 
of  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw's  plays,  for  example,  leave 
the  audience  entirely  in  the  dark  as  to  the  solution 
of  the  moral  problem  unintentionally  suggested. 


RELATION  OF  BEAUTY  TO  MORALITY    105 

Why  should  one  complain  of  that  and  torment 
one's  mind  by  searching  for  an  answer  which  the 
author,  who  has  been  interested  solely  in  his  art, 
has  considered  of  negligible  importance.  Even 
when  the  moral  problem  has  been  solved,  the 
answer  may  not  be  satisfactory,  but  the  play  can 
nevertheless  be  enjoyed  if  the  distance  is  main- 
tained. The  moral  appeal,  however,  is  an  ex- 
tremely strong  one.  Artists  know  this  and  it  is 
due  to  this  fact  that  many  of  them  insistently  re- 
fuse to  emphasize  the  ethical  side.  For  the  most 
part  they  assume  an  attitude  of  indifference  to- 
wards it,  for  they  know  that  if  motives  other  than 
the  creation  of  beauty  should  be  in  their  minds 
while  they  are  working,  their  art  is  likely  to  suffer. 
There  will  be  less  vigor  due  to  a  relaxed  atten- 
tion to  the  true  art  form,  and  the  result  will  tend 
toward  the  distressingly  sentimental,  such  as  is 
found  in  the  paintings  of  certain  English  schools 
which  resemble  the  Christmas  art  supplements 
of  popular  journals.  One  should  not  generalize, 
however,  for  there  are  those  who  can  weave  the 
moral  so  subtly  into  their  artistic  fabric  that  the 
effect  is  as  truly  aesthetic  as  can  be  desired.  ^ 

At  times  the  play  or  tale  or  painting  is  deUber- 

*  Verestchagin  has  described  his  own  attitude  thus: — "A  good  deal  has 
been  written  about  my  works:  many  were  the  reproaches  brought  against 
my  paintings,  those  treating  of  religious  subjects  as  well  as  of  military.  And 
yet  they  were,  all  of  them,  painted  without  any  preconceived  idea,— were 
painted  only  because  their  subjects  interested  me.  The  moral  in  each  case 
appeared  afterwards,  coming  up  of  its  own  accoimt,  from  the  very  truth- 
fulness of  impressions."    {Realiam,  pp.  11-12.) 


106  THE  ESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

ately  constructed  for  propaganda.  The  author  is 
willing  to  sacrifice  the  artistic  to  his  purpose,  and 
the  result  should  be  accepted  in  the  spirit  in  which 
it  was  intended.  Art  of  course  suffers  a  certain 
loss,  but  the  stage  or  the  art  gallery  may  succeed 
where  the  pulpit  or  the  lecture  platform  has  failed, 
so  that  the  method  is  to  some  extent  justified. 
Plays  like  Brieux's  "Damaged  Goods'*  must  be 
accepted,  if  at  all,  from  the  pedagogical  view-point. 
It  is  useless  even  to  discuss  the  artistic  merit  of 
plays  of  this  sort,  where  the  ethical  note  is  so  evi- 
dently uppermost,  for  there  is  little  chance  of  the 
audience  maintaining  any  distance  toward  it. 
It  is  even  a  question  whether  the  attitude  of  moral 
evaluation  can  be  held  in  opposition  to  the  even 
stronger  sexual  one.  Why  the  artists  deprecate 
such  a  use  of  art  is  evident;  it  runs  counter  to  all 
their  aims,  and  the  non-sesthetic  motives,  on 
account  of  their  strength,  would,  if  encouraged 
ever  so  slightly,  quite  overlay  their  art. 

The  purpose  of  this  discussion  has  been  to  make 
clear  the  true  province  of  aesthetic  criticism.  It 
must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  art  is  free 
from  all  moral  laws.  Professor  R.  B.  Perry  cor- 
rectly decided  this  issue  when  he  wrote,  "Art  is 
subject  to  moral  criticism,  because  morality  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  law  which  de- 
termines the  whole  order  of  interests,  within  which 
art  and  every  other  good  thing  is  possible.  It  will 
scarcely  be  denied  that  art  is  an  expression  of  in- 
terest, that  both  its  creation  and  its  enjoyment  are 


RELATION  OF  BEAUTY  TO  MORALITY    107 

activities,  moods,  or  phases  of  life;  and  it  follows 
that  before  this  specific  interest  can  be  safely  or 
adequately  satisfied,  it  is  necessary  to  fulfil  the 
general  conditions  that  underlie  the  satisfaction 
of  all  interest.  It  is  as  absurd  to  speak  of  art  for 
art's  sake  as  it  is  to  speak  of  drinking  for  drink- 
ing's  sake,  if  you  mean  that  this  interest  is  entitled 
to  entirely  free  play.  Art,  like  all  other  interests, 
can  flourish  only  in  a  sound  and  whole  society, 
and  the  law  of  soundness  and  wholeness  in  life  is 
morality.  .  .  .  But,"  he  adds,  a  few  pages  be- 
yond, "the  moralist  is  judging  art  on  moral  grounds. 
Hence  he  does  not  say,  *I  see  that  your  painting 
is  ugly ';  but  he  does  say,  *I  see  that  your  painting, 
which  you  esteem  beautiful  (and  I  take  your  word 
for  it)  is  6cwZ."' 1 

It  has  been  shown  that  whether  or  not  there  is  in 
any  given  situation  an  experience  of  beauty  and 
what  the  degree  of  the  beauty  is,  depends  upon  the 
nature  of  the  reaction  of  the  human  organism, 
or  in  other  words,  the  attitude  of  mind  toward 
an  object;  and  this  reaction  in  turn  depends  both 
upon  the  state  of  the  organism  at  the  time  and  the 
nature  of  the  object.  What  is  meant  by  the  state 
of  mind,  in  an  sesthetic  situation,  and  how  it  con- 
stantly changes  through  the  interplay  of  desires, 
wishes,  and  intentions  will  now  be  evident.  It 
will  also  be  clear  that  even  a  slight  change  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  object  of  beauty  may  funda- 

1  The  Moral  Economy,  pp.  174-176.    See  also  MarshaU's  Pain,  Pleatwr$ 
and  Esthetics,  p.  139. 


108  THE  iESTHETIC  ATTITUDE 

mentally  affect  the  adjustment  of  the  organism. 
The  statement  will  now  be  understood  that  beauty 
is  neither  totally  dependent  upon  the  person  who 
experiences,  nor  upon  the  thing  experienced;  that 
it  is  neither  subjective  nor  objective,  neither  the 
result  of  purely  intellectual  activity,  nor  a  value 
inherent  in  the  object,  but  a  relation  between  two 
variables — the  human  organism  and  the  object. 
As  such,  it  is  just  as  real  as  an  experience  of  color 
or  sound.  What  has  been  termed  beauty  does  not 
exist  when  there  is  no  organism  to  experience  it, 
so  that  the  enduring  quality  of  the  object  is  not  an 
essential  though  desirable  characteristic  of  the 
work  of  art.  It  is  now  necessary  to  describe  more 
fully  the  manner  in  which  the  organism  reacts 
in  an  aesthetic  situation,  and  through  its  adjust- 
ment experiences  the  pleasure  of  beauty.  This 
will  be  the  subject  of  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  V 
EMPATHY 

§  1.  The  Motor  Response  in  Perception 

It  is  not  necessary  to  lift  a  stone  in  order  to  know 
that  it  is  heavy.  The  visual  perception  of  the  size 
and  nature  of  the  stone  is  sufficient  to  arouse 
within  us,  through  association  with  previous  ex- 
periences of  lifting,  the  muscle  sensations  or  motor 
set  which  would  accompany  the  actual  process  of 
lifting.  Without  such  previous  experience,  there 
would  be  no  perception  of  weight.  The  word  itself 
would  be  without  meaning.  All  of  our  percep- 
tions are  dependent  upon  the  motor  attitudes 
that  are  assumed  toward  the  object.  The  eye 
measures  the  extent  of  a  line  by  moving  over  it, 
or  there  is  an  incipient  revival  within  us  of  the 
muscular  sensations  of  some  other  part  of  the  body, 
such  as  the  hand  or  the  leg;  that  is,  we  think  of  the 
movement  of  that  member  along  the  line,  and  thus 
have  the  clue  to  the  length  of  the  line.  The  per- 
ception obtained  by  the  roundness  of  an  object  or 
other  factors  of  shape,  depends  upon  similar  proc- 
esses. When  we  notice  the  smooth  curves  of  a 
marble  torso,  we  can  probably,  if  we  observe  care- 
fully, get  a  fleeting  image  of  our  hands  moving  in 
imagination  around  the  figure.  Combined  with 
this  sense  of  movement,  there  will  probably  be 


110  EMPATHY 

fancied  the  coldness  of  the  marble  and  the  quality 
of  the  touch.  The  true  distance  of  objects  from 
us,  their  shape,  and  the  nature  of  lines  are  also 
given  in  terms  of  movement.  The  meaning  of 
facial  expression  is  learned  from  the  movement  of 
one's  own  face,  or  a  tendency  toward  such  move- 
ment as  suggested  by  the  lines  of  the  face  ob- 
served.^ 

When  we  hsten  to  a  song,  we  have  a  tendency  to 
move  in  time  to  the  rhythm,  and  to  repeat  the 
notes  with  accompanying  tension  in  the  throat. 
In  silent  reading,  the  tendency  to  movement  often 
goes  over  into  actual  movement  of  the  lips  or 
muscles  of  the  larynx.  The  act  of  imity  itself, 
fundamental  to  experience,  is  conceived  in  motor 
terms  as  a  bringing  of  things  together.  It  will 
rightly  be  objected  that  in  many  instances  of 
perception  there  is  no  consciousness  of  such  move- 
ment, not  even  of  the  faintest  tendency  toward 
such  imitation  of  facial  expression  as  that  just 
described.  The  answer  is  that  these  motor  sets 
may  be,  and  in  fact  most  frequently  are,  subcon- 
scious. The  object  observed,  whether  through  the 
eye,  ear,  or  another  of  the  senses,  arouses  the  mem- 
ory of  former  movements,  which  are  so  revived 
that  they  form  a  nervous  pattern;  that  is,  the 
nerve  paths  going  to  the  necessary  muscle  groups 
are  opened,  and  those  to  opposed  muscle  groups 
are  closed,  and  this  pattern,  which  is  ready  on 

^  See  the  author's  "The  Judgment  of  Emotions  from  Facial  Expressions," 
Journal  of  Abnormal  Psychology,  August,  1918. 


THE  MOTOR  RESPONSE  IN  PERCEPTION    HI 

additional  stimulation  to  produce  actual  move- 
ment, is  sufficient  to  give  us  our  perception  of 
space,  weight,  form,  smoothness,  delicacy,  and 
many  of  our  other  experiences.  Accordingly  one 
must  for  the  most  part  explain  this  tendency  to 
movement  in  physiological  rather  than  psycho- 
logical terms. 

We  can  readily  prove  to  our  satisfaction  that 
we  do  assume  a  motor  attitude  to  the  object  of  our 
perception,  even  though  such  an  attitude  is  carried 
in  unconscious  terms,  by  performing  a  simple  ex- 
periment. If  we  look  successively  at  two  pictures 
which  are  identical,  except  that  one  is  reversed 
as  in  a  mirror,  the  difference  in  the  direction  of  the 
lines  of  the  figures  will  be  felt  distinctly  as  a  phys- 
ical jar,  such  as  is  produced  by  a  sudden  change 
in  the  direction  of  a  voluntary  movement.  In 
this  case  as  in  many  other  actual  experiences,  the 
motor  set  assumed  toward  the  object  is  not  noticed 
until  there  is  some  transition  to  an  attitude  that 
conflicts  with  the  former  one.  This  may  also  be 
readily  observed  in  regard  to  our  motor  set  toward 
the  familiar  arrangement  of  objects  about  us,  such 
as  those  of  our  room.  There  is  a  very  faint  glow 
of  familiarity  about  those  possessions  which  we 
perceive  every  day  of  the  year,  and  this  sense  of  the 
accustomed  is  carried  in  terms  of  ease  of  adjust- 
ment through  long  practice;  but  let  one  thing  be 
removed  or  disarranged  and  instantly  there  is 
felt  an  uneasiness  and  motor  restlessness,  as  we 
should  describe  it.    We  feel  that  there  has  been  a 


11«  EMPATHY 

change  even  though  at  times  we  are  unable  to 
identify  it.  When  motion  is  suggested  to  us,  the 
motor  tendency  is  even  more  noticeable,  as  for 
example  when  we  are  directed  to  go  down  the  street 
one  block,  turn  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left,  etc. 
There  are  many  who  will,  in  order  to  imderstand 
and  remember  the  directions,  act  them  out  in  imag- 
ination so  vividly  that  there  will  be  felt  in  the  body 
and  extremities  a  tug  to  the  right  or  the  left. 
TVTien  an  actual  motion  is  visually  perceived,  the 
movement  is  still  more  vividly  felt.  In  watching 
a  football  game,  w^e  suddenly  realize  that  in  the 
excitement  of  following  our  team,  we  have  been 
unconsciously  pushing  against  our  neighbor  on  the 
bench.  The  prestidigitator  has  no  difficulty  in 
directing  the  attention  away  from  the  sleight  of 
hand  by  simply  pointing  toward  the  innocent 
hand  with  the  fingers  of  the  hand  which  is  to  do 
the  palming. 

There  are  two  main  forms  of  motor  attitude  that 
may  be  assumed  in  regard  to  an  object,  one  of 
which  particularly  concerns  aesthetics,  the  other' 
not.  The  one  is  an  adjustment  toward,  the  other 
an  adjustment  in  the  object.  When  one  sees  a  tree 
swaying  in  the  sunshine,  one  can  either  have  the 
motor  impulse  to  put  out  one's  hand  to  stop  the 
motion,  which  is  in  a  sense  a  defensory  attitude, 
or  one  may  have  the  impulse  to  sway  with  the  mov- 
ing tree  and  thus  to  realize  the  true  nature  of  its 
motion.  It  is  this  latter  form  of  adjustment  that 
has  been  described  by  Lotze,  and  it  will  probably 


UPPS'  THEORY  OF  EMPATHY         113 

be  recognized  from  what  has  gone  before  that  it  is 
such  a  reaction  that  is  found  in  aesthetic  enjoy- 
ment. It  will  be  recalled  that  two  attitudes  may- 
be assumed  toward  the  outstretched  hand  of  a 
statue:  either  one  of  grasping  the  hand,  or  of  feel- 
ing the  "  outstretching  "  of  the  hand.  It  is  through 
this  latter  attitude,  which  gives  us  the  feeling  of 
the  tension  and  the  weight  of  the  arm,  the  angle 
at  which  it  is  raised,  and  the  bend  at  the  elbow  and 
wrist,  that  we  can  get  the  true  aesthetic  effect.  We 
can  feel  these  qualities  of  form  and  motion  only 
by  carrying  out  the  movements  or  experiencing 
somewhere  in  the  organism  a  tendency  to  such 
muscular  adjustments  and  movements.  It  is  only 
by  such  a  movement  within  ourselves  that  we  can 
have  the  experience  of  the  aesthetic  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness  of  things. 

§2.  Lipps'  Theory  of  Empathy 

This  fact  of  the  dynamic  quality  of  perceptions 
has  been  described  by  Lotze  ^  and  F.  T.  Vischer  ^ 
and  has  even  appeared  earlier  in  the  Uterature, 
but  the  wider  application  of  the  principle  to  aes- 
thetics was  made  clear  by  Theodor  Lipps.  He 
termed  this  phenomenon  "Einfuhlung"  (feeling 
into),  a  word  which  had  already  been  casually 
used  by  Lotze,  and  which  has  been  translated  by 
Professor  Titchener  as  "empathy.'* ' 

*  A  description  of  Lotze's  views  is  givoi  in  the  chapter  cm  "Balance  and 
Proportion,"  pp.  216  et  »eq. 

*  Dot  Schone  und  die  Kunst,  p.  70. 

» Experimental  Psychology  of  the  Thought  Proeessea.  p.  81. 


114  EMPATHY 

Lipps  has  illustrated  his  meaning  by  examples 
from  the  appreciation  of  architectm*e,  vases,  etc., 
and  has  used  the  principle  also  as  an  explanation 
of  optical  illusions.  In  his  first  description  of  his 
theory  of  empathy  he  says:  "The  Doric  column 
rises  [literally  rears  itself  up]  as  does  every  col- 
umn. .  .  .  This  self-raising  of  the  column  is  its 
*  intrinsic  activity.'  The  word  activity  is  used  in 
the  fullest  sense  as  exertion,  striving,  expenditure 
of  energy;  at  the  same  time  expenditure  6f  energy 
through  which  something  is  achieved.  Such  ac- 
tivity is  not  without  opposing  activity  or  resist- 
ance, which  must  be  overcome.  This  [resistance] 
is  here  occasioned  by  the  weight.  .  .  .  But  upon 
our  observing  the  column  and  seeing  it  raise  itself  to 
a  certain  height  above  the  ground,  this  [resistance] 
does  not  prevent  the  force  which  is  directed  against 
the  weight  from  appearing  to  us  as  the  actual  ac- 
tivity; the  force  and  not  the  weight  will  in  our 
eyes  seem  to  perform  the  act  with  which  we  are 
here  concerned  or  through  which  the  column  ap- 
pears to  gain  its  peculiar  property.'*  ^  The  manner 
in  which  this  dynamic  quality  of  inanimate  ob- 
jects is  apprehended  is  explained  by  Lipps  as 
follows:  "A  similar  way  of  considering  things  can 
be  noticed  whenever  we  speak  of  a  'force'  residing 
in  an  object;  more  clearly  even  whenever  we  real- 
ize a  *  tendency'  or  *  striving'  in  anything  that 

*  RaunuBsthdik  und  Geometrisch-Optische  Tauschungen,  pp.  3-4.  Vernon 
Lee  and  C.  Anstruther-Thomson  published  a  similar  theory  under  the  title 
of  "Beauty  and  Ugliness"  in  the  Contemporary  Review,  Oct.  and  Nov.,  1897. 


UPPS'  THEORY  OF  EMPATHY         115 

happens,  whenever  we  realize  any  *  doing'  or 
*  being  done  to/  any  *  activity*  or  *  passivity.*  All 
such  vivifying  of  our  surrounding  realities  comes 
about,  and  can  come  about  only  as  we  attribute 
to  outer  things  our  own  feeling  of  force,  our  own 
feeling  of  striving  or  willing,  our  own  activity 
and  passivity.  .  .  .  The  column  seems  to  brace 
itself  and  raise  itself,  that  is  to  say,  to  proceed 
in  the  way  in  which  I  do  when  I  pull  myself  to- 
gether and  raise  myself,  or  remain  thus  tense  and 
erect,  in  opposition  to  the  natural  inertness  of 
my  body.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  be  aware  of 
the  column  without  this  activity  seeming  to  exist 
directly  in  the  column  of  which  I  am  aware.**  * 
That  is,  when  we  see  an  object  such  as  a  colmnn 
or  a  spiral  or  an  arch,  we  realize  from  our  previous 
experience  how  it  was  constructed.  We  have  an 
idea  of  the  forces,  tensions,  etc.,  involved.  There 
are  then  induced  in  our  muscles  and  joints  sensa- 
tions of  strain  and  movement  similar  to  those 
which  we  should  have  if  we  built  such  objects. 
The  ideas  of  these  sensations  are  then  projected 
into  the  object  and  these  give  it  life.  They  are  no 
longer  our  own  sensations  but  attributes  of  the 
object.  It  is  not  a  mere  perception  of  the  form 
which  directly  calls  up  ideas  of  one's  activity  and 
which  in  turn  is  projected  into  the  object;  for 
Lipps  it  is  first  necessary  that  we  have  this  knowl- 
edge of  the  process  of  construction,  before  we  can 
have  the  ideas  of  movement.    The  perception  of 

^  Op.  cU.,  pp.  6-7. 


116  EMPATHY 

movement,  however,  is  first  identified  in  the  object 
and  not  in  one's  self.  There  is  the  immediate  per- 
ception of  the  rearing  of  a  column,  the  span  of  the 
arch,  the  motion  of  the  spiral.  "  Briefly,  in  the  act 
of  empathy  I  do  not  supply  any  form  to  the  spiral 
or  to  the  manner  in  which  it  seems  to  have  been 
constructed,  but  it  is  the  forces  through  which  its 
form  has  originated  to  which  I  attach  this  personal 
quality.  Nor  is  it  at  all  necessary  that  I  should 
have  ever  realized  this  form  within  myself.  Inas- 
much as  this  personal  quality  is  added  to  the  form 
of  this  definite  mechanical  process  or  is  incor- 
porated in  it,  this  quality  naturally  appears  as  a 
quality  of  a  mechanical  process  which  is  spatially 
so  constituted  as  to  form  a  spiral."  ^  This  is  the 
essence  of  Lipps'  theory.  He  has  enlarged  upon 
it  in  his  subsequent  writings,^  but  has  become  more 
metaphysical  in  his  amplifications,  especially  in 
his  insistence  upon  the  idea  that  the  projection 
of  our  movements  is  a  projection  of  our  ego  into 
the  object.  Lipps  has  insisted  that  there  is  not  in 
us  the  actual  sensation  of  muscular  effort.  He 
believes  in  a  purely  mental  process  without  any 
sensational  basis,  an  idea  which  is  entirely  free 
from  actual  experiences  of  bodily  processes,  a 
mystical  mind  substance,  and  it  is  the  ideas  of 
movement  within  us  in  this,  as  he  would  perhaps 
say,   "spiritual   sense"  that  give  the  inanimate 

^  "  iEsthetische  Einf UMung,"  Zeitschrift  fUr  Psych,  u.  Phys.  der  Sinnea- 
organe,  vol.  22,  1900,  pp.  439-440. 
'  See  Zur  Einfuhling. 


TENDENCIES  TO  MOVEMENTS         117 

objects  dynamic  force  and  cause  us  to  realize  their 
true  form  and  shape. 

§  3.  Movements  and  Tendencies  to  Movements 

Professor  Karl  Groos  among  others,  called  at- 
tention, on  the  other  hand,  to  the  fact  that  there 
are  often  actual  sensations  of  movements  of  the 
organism  when  perceiving  shapes,  etc.  He  called 
his  theory  "inner  mimicry, "^  and  as  it  was  con- 
trary to  Lipps*  spiritual  theory,  it  was  bitterly 
opposed  by  the  latter.  The  majority  of  modern 
experimental  psychologists,  however,  agree  with 
the  contentions  of  Professor  Groos.  In  fact,  such 
actual  movements  can  be  detected  in  the  labora- 
tory during  experiments  upon  perception.  Lipps, 
however,  is  correct  in  so  far  that  during  aesthetic 
contemplation  such  experiences  are  not  felt  as  sen- 
sations within  the  body.  In  fact,  they  do  not  come 
to  consciousness  as  sensations  of  our  own  move- 
ments at  all,  but  influence  the  perception  in  such  a 
way  that  the  lines  and  figures  themselves  seem  to 
have  the  force  which  is  actually  in  us.  As  soon  as 
we  are  conscious  of  our  own  sensations,  we  are  no 
longer  contemplating  the  beauty  of  the  object, 
for  the  words  "our  own  sensations"  in  themselves 
denote  that  we  are  no  longer  enjoying  the  object, 
but  that  our  aesthetic  attitude  has  broken  down 
imder  the  distraction  of  the  bodily  processes.  In- 
deed, as  soon  as  our  attention  is  upon  such  proc- 
esses, there  can  be  no  identification  of  such  move- 

^  See  Die  Spiele  des  Menscken. 


118  EMPATHY 

ments  with  the  lines,  no  fusion  of  the  sensations 
with  the  object,  and  so  even  empathy  itself  is  im- 
possible. This  fact  suggests  a  further  reason  why 
it  is  so  diflScult  to  assume  an  aesthetic  attitude 
toward  objects  which  are  perceived  through  the 
lower  senses.  When  one  chews  and  swallows,  the 
sensations  from  the  muscles  of  the  jaw  and  throat 
are  relatively  strong  and  come  readily  into  con- 
sciousness. The  same  is  true  of  the  sensations  from 
the  muscles  of  the  nose  in  smelling,  especially 
when  we  are  interested  in  the  quality  of  the  odor, 
that  is  when  we  sniff  carefully.  In  obtaining  touch 
and  temperature  stimulations  there  are  also  strong 
sensations  from  the  various  muscles  of  the  body, 
for  they  are  generally  moved  during  the  percep- 
tion. The  attention  then  is  partly  at  least  upon 
the  process;  things  taste  good,  smell  good,  Jeel 
good.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  seldom  that  one 
feels  the  tension  in  the  eyes  or  the  ears,  and  so  the 
color  is  pretty,  the  sound  is  agreeable,  etc.*  The 
fact  that  there  are  sensations  of  bodily  movements 
or  tendencies  toward  such  movements  is  not 
learned  directly  at  the  time  of  the  spontaneous 
aesthetic  experience,  but  only  when  one  is  definitely 
set  for  analytical  introspection  or  else  through  ob- 
jective records  obtained  under  experimental  con- 
ditions. 

*  It  is  probably  this  projection  of  our  feeling  into  the  object  which  is 
the  basis  of  Professor  Santayana's  definition  of  beauty  as  "pleasure  ob- 
jectified." The  Sense  of  Beauty,  p.  52.  See  also  James'  Essays  in  Radical 
Empiricism,  pp.  148-144. 


TENDENCIES  TO  MOVEMENTS         119 

In  discussing  the  possibility  of  the  accompani- 
ment of  eye  movements  in  certain  perceptions  of 
form,  Vernon  Lee  writes:  "This  phenomenon  is 
hidden,  can  be  watched  only  in  especial  experi- 
ments like  those  made  by  my  collaborator  as  the 
result  of  specially  trained  attention,  and  is,  by 
the  very  fact  of  normal  aesthetic  attention  being 
withdrawn  from  the  perceiving  subject  and  fixed 
upon  the  perceived  object,  translated  at  once  into 
qualities  of  the  visible  shape  {Beauty  and  Ugli- 
ness, p.  546).  *Our  attention  has  become  engaged, 
not  with  the  change  in  ourselves  productive  of 
the  sense  of  height,  or  roundness,  or  symmetry, 
but  with  the  objective  external  causes  of  these 
changes;  and  the  formula  of  perception  has  be- 
come, not  *I  feel  roundness,  or  height,  or  sym- 
metry,' but  *this  or  that  object  is  round,  or  high, 
or  symmetrical.'"  ^ 

When  her  collaborator.  Miss  C.  Anstruther- 
Thomson,  made  the  observations  upon  which  to 
base  the  following  description,  she  was  for  the  most 
part  a  psychologist  and  not  an  sesthetician :  "My 
eye  falls  on  the  Venus  of  Milo.  .  .  .  The  pressure 
of  my  feet  on  the  ground  is  pressure  that  I  see  in  a 
marked  degree  in  the  feet  of  the  statue.  The  lift-up 
of  my  body  I  see  done  more  strongly  and  amply 
in  her  marble  body,  and  the  steadying  pressure 
of  my  head  I  see  in  a  diminished  degree  in  the  poise 
of  the  statue's  beautiful  head.  These  movements 
I  may  be  said  to  imitate,  but  I  should  find  them 

*  Beauty  and  Ugliness,  p.  135. 


120  EMPATHY 

and  imitate  them  equally  in  a  Renaissance  monu- 
ment or  a  mediaeval  chalice.  They  are  at  the  basis 
of  all  art.  Another  connexion  that  I  feel  with  her 
is  by  the  balance  and  shifting  of  my  weight  from 
side  to  side  in  order  to  follow  her  balance."  ^  The 
analysis  of  our  motor  attitude,  however,  increases 
such  participation  in  future  aesthetic  situations, 
and  these  add  to  the  depth  and  richness  of  our  im- 
mediate experience,  sharpen  the  critical  function* 
and  heighten  the  power  of  discrimination. 

Professor  Groos  believes  that  there  are  three  dif- 
ferent stages  in  our  empathic  response.  When  the 
bodily  feelings,  etc.,  are  not  perceived  as  localized  in 
the  body,  they  seem  to  fill  the  object;  when  these 
sensations  are  still  too  weak  to  induce  our  atten- 
tion to  wander  from  the  object,  but  are  sufficiently 
strong  to  have  a  decided  effect  on  consciousness, 
there  is  a  projection  of  ourselves  in  the  object; 
if  they  are  still  stronger,  they  will  be  definitely 
realized  and  then  there  is  no  longer  this  projection.^ 
The  first  and  last  stages  are  in  agreement  with 
what  has  been  said  above,  and  the  description  is 
important  for  an  adequate  knowledge  of  the  nature 
of  empathy  and  its  relation  to  the  immediate 
aesthetic  appreciation.  The  existence  of  a  second 
stage,  that  of  the  consciousness  of  the  "projection 
of  ourselves,"  just  as  that  of  Lipps*  "projection 
of  the  ego,"  is  doubtful.    It  seems  to  be  a  theoret- 

*  Op.  cit.,  p.  119. 

*"Das  ^sthetische  Miterleben,"  Zeitschrift  fur  JEsthdik,  etc..  Vol.  IV, 
part  2,  p.  181. 


TENDENCIES  TO  MOVEMENTS         121 

ical  assumption  and  not  a  fact  discernible  in  ex- 
perience. If  we  are  conscious  of  such  projection 
then  we  are  also  aware  of  ourselves;  that  is,  that 
the  sensations  are  our  own  sensations,  and  that 
therefore  they  cannot  be  located  in  the  object,  which 
is  what  such  projection  implies.  The  object  seems 
to  have  force,  to  live;  that  is  a  fact  of  experience. 
It  is  discovered  that  such  a  perception  is  due  to 
one's  own  muscle  sensations,  although  at  the  time 
of  the  perception  they  seem  to  be  a  quality  of  the 
object.  This  latter  is  also  a  fact  of  experience. 
These  two  facts  are  empirical  and  important.  It 
is  then,  however,  assumed  that  because  these 
muscle  sensations  condition  the  quality  of  the  ob- 
ject, there  must  be  some  awareness  at  times  of  the 
fact  of  the  projection  itself,  which  is  not  neces- 
sarily true,  and  is  not  borne  out  by  experience. 
In  other  words,  the  idea  seems  to  be  a  logical  as- 
sumption and  not  an  empirical  fact.  It  has  seemed 
necessary  to  discuss  this  point  at  some  length, 
because  it  is  typical  of  descriptions  which  so  fre- 
quently occur  in  aesthetic  literature,  and  which  in 
the  case  of  empathy  have  tended  to  express  in 
metaphysical  terms  a  perfectly  honest  and  clean- 
cut  experience. 

The  phenomenon  of  empathy  is  not  so  com- 
plicated as  one  is  led  to  suppose  from  descriptions 
like  that  by  Lipps.  When  we  see  a  form  such  as  a 
spiral,  memories  of  movements  corresponding  to 
the  spiral  are  touched  off,  probably  memories  of 
the  movements  of  the  hand  in  drawing  such  a 


122  EMPATHY 

figure.  If  it  is  an  unknown  shape,  one  first  seeks 
the  experience  of  actually  tracing  the  form  in 
order  to  perceive  its  quality.  These  memories  are 
expressed  either  in  actual  motor  responses  or 
merely  in  tendencies  to  movement.  The  degrees 
of  response  vary  greatly.  A  tendency  toward 
movement  may  be  described  as  a  motor  set  or 
pattern  which  must  precede  any  overt  action.  It 
must  be  emphasized  that  it  is  not  necessary  that 
we  should  first  have  the  idea  of  the  formation  of 
such  a  figure,  and  that  we  then  imitate  in  our- 
selves such  a  process  as  Lipps  and  others  have 
contended.  An  idea  of  mechanical  construction  as 
"mere  idea"  is  meaningless.  Even  if  the  idea 
of  construction  were  a  necessary  link,  it  would 
itself  have  to  be  expressed  in  motor  set  and  ac- 
companying sensations,  for  that  is  the  only  way 
in  which  it  could  be  understood. 

Further,  these  sensations  of  movement  or  tend- 
encies to  movement  are  projected  into  the  lines 
and  shapes.  They  are  not  felt  as  movements  of 
our  body,  but  fuse  with  the  object  as  visual,  audi- 
tory, or  other  form  of  perception,  giving  character 
and  meaning  to  the  object  as  will  be  shown  by  ex- 
amples. They  are  also  the  cause  of  the  accom- 
panying enjoyment  or  affective  tone.  The  objects 
cannot  be  pleasing  unless  they  give  rise  to  unified 
empathic  responses  because  the  nervous  set  re- 
quires such  unification,  and  that  is  the  ultimate 
reason  why  unity  in  the  object  is  essential  to 
beauty.    The  degree  of  unity  required  in  the  object 


TENDENCIES  TO  MOVEMENTS         123 

for  the  greatest  pleasure,  however,  depends  upon 
the  total  situation,^  and  the  exact  nature  of  the 
empathic  response,  which  the  particular  object 
induces,  and  of  the  consequent  perception  depends 
upon  the  experience  and  total  state  of  the  observ- 
er's organism  at  the  time. 

It  is  evident  that  mere  adaptation  to  the  situa- 
tion, quickly  and  readily  attained  through  pre- 
vious familiarity  with  the  perceived  objects,  would 
soon  lose  its  interest  for  us.  We  do  not  find  pleas- 
ure in  the  accustomed.  There  must  be  something 
present  in  our  relation  to  the  environment  that  re- 
quires a  new  effort  on  our  part.^  It  may  be  stated 
then  that  a  new  and  successful  adaptation  is  a 
necessary  and  fundamental  factor  of  the  pleasure 
in  aesthetic  creations. 

The  following  is  a  description  of  the  motor  set 
from  the  physiological  side.  Dr.  E.  J.  Kempf  writes : 
"This  is  virtually  saying  that  we  think  with  our 
muscles,  because  the  kinesthetic  impulses  .  .  . 
arising  from  the  embedded  proprioceptors  are 
much  more  numerous  than  all  the  others.  For 
example,  if  we  allow  ourselves  to  become  aware 
of  the  visual  image  of  a  moving  automobile,  the 
awareness  of  its  movement  is  furnished  by  ex- 

^  This  phase  of  the  problem  will  be  considered  in  more  detail  in  the  chap- 
ter on  "  Unity  and  Imagination." 

*  Professor  R.  S.  Woodworth  has  stated,  in  his  Dynamic  Psychology,  p.  102, 
"  Action  that  b  too  easy  because  all  diflBculties  have  been  smoothed  away  or 
already  subjugated  by  well-formed  habits  is  automatic  rather  than  interest- 
ing, and  action  that  meets  with  unsurmountable  obstacles  is  distinctly  an- 
nojdng;  but  action  that  encounters  resistance  but  overcomes  it  without 
resorting  to  the  last  oimce  of  effort  is  distinctly  interesting." 


124  EMPATHY 

trinsic  muscles  of  the  eye-ball  as  they  shift  the 
image  by  shifting  their  postural  tensions.  Overt 
movements  are  not  necessary  unless  we  desire  a 
very  vivid  image,  then,  also,  the  muscles  of  the 
neck  may  contribute  by  moving  the  head.  If  the 
image  of  the  moving  automobile  is  one  of  our- 
selves pushing  it,  then  the  muscles  of  the  body 
come  into  play  to  furnish  the  images  .  .  .  and, 
if  it  is  to  include  pushing  it  through  a  cold,  wet, 
muddy  road,  the  sensations  of  coldness  and  wet- 
ness arise  from  the  tactile  receptors  of  the  skin 
of  our  legs.  If  the  description  of  the  experience 
includes  the  reproduction  of  an  accident  (say  slip- 
ping), we  feel  the  image  of  the  movement  of  the 
slipping  in  our  legs  first,  the  remainder  of  the 
body  then  adjusting  and  coordinating  to  the  change 
of  posture."  ^  The  possibility  of  the  shifting  of 
tensions  in  muscles  without  overt  movement 
gives  a  physiological  explanation  of  what  is  meant 
by  the  change  in  tendency  to  movement  and  in 
motor  set.  This  is  particularly  important,  because 
it  has  been  argued  against  empathy  that  the  time 
of  perception  is  often  too  short  for  actual  move- 
ments, and  yet  within  that  time  effects  are  ob- 
served which  are  claimed  to  be  caused  by  an  em- 
pathic  attitude.  If  it  were  necessary  to  make 
actual  movements  in  order  to  empathize,  then 
there  would  be  a  justified  skepticism  in  regard  to 
the  validity  of  the  theory,  for  it  is  more  than  prob- 

^  "The  Autonomic  Functions  and  the  Personality,"  Nervous  and  Mental 
Disease  Monoffraph,  series  28,  1918,  p.  23. 


TENDENCIES  TO  MOVEMENTS         125 

able  that  in  the  majority  of  instances  of  empathy 
no  overt  action  can  be  detected.  Dr.  Kempf  has 
written  further  on  this  point:  "Apparently  we  may 
have  such  changes  in  the  postural  tonus  as  re- 
ciprocally increasing  or  decreasing  tonus  between 
the  flexors  and  extensors,  pronators  and  supin- 
ators, abductors  and  adductors  of  a  limb  or  several 
limbs  without  overt  movement  of  the  limb;  as 
when  one  makes  his  arm  give  him  the  sensations 
of  wielding  a  tennis  racket  without  going  through 
visible  movements;  and  as  the  sensations  of  such 
movements  are  made  more  vivid  the  overt  move- 
ments begin  to  appear."  ^ 

Another  argument  that  has  been  made  against 
empathy  is  that  it  is  often  impossible  to  move  in 
the  way  that  perceived  shapes  suggest.  Particular 
reference  has  been  made  to  eye  movements,  the 
importance  of  which  has  perhaps  been  somewhat 
overemphasized.  It  was  supposed  at  one  time 
that  we  experienced  the  quality  of  lines  and  judged 
the  degree  of  their  gracefulness,  etc.,  by  following 
them  with  the  eyes.  Professor  G.  M.  Stratton 
performed  the  experiment  of  photographing  the 
movements  of  the  eyes  while  they  were  following 
a  curved  line.  It  was  found  that  they  could  not 
trace  the  curved  line  but  moved  in  jerks,  forming 
a  line  with  sharp  angles  which  no  one  could  fail  to 
consider  disagreeable.^    That  the  eye  does  ordi- 

*  Op.  cU.,  p.  21. 

*  "Eye-Movements  and  the  ^Esthetics  of  Visual  Form,"  Pkilosophiaehe 
Studim,  vol.  20,  pp.  336-359. 


126  EMPATHY 

narily  move  in  jerks  has  been  substantiated  by 
other  investigators.  That  it  cannot  possibly  move 
in  smooth  curves  does  not  seem  to  have  as  yet 
been  conclusively  proven.  However,  these  results 
do  not  minimize  the  importance  of  empathy.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  empathize  with  the  eyes  any  more 
than  it  is  necessary  to  imagine  ourselves  walking 
in  a  spiral  in  order  to  appreciate  the  curves.  A 
tendency  to  move  any  part  of  the  body  that  is 
capable  of  moving  in  the  way  suggested  is  suf- 
ficient. Just  what  part  of  the  body  is  used  de- 
pends upon  conditions.  We  may  have  the  impulse 
to  trace  the  line  with  the  foot  or  with  the  whole 
leg,  or  with  the  hand.  We  may  incline  the  body 
or  merely  the  head  to  one  side,  we  may  beat  the 
rhythm  with  the  foot,  the  head,  the  hand,  or  the 
finger,  or  the  response  may  come  through  the 
change  in  breathing.  The  perception  of  weight 
may  be  due  to  strain  in  all  the  muscles  of  the  body 
which  would  ordinarily  be  used  to  lift  an  object 
like  the  one  perceived,  or  the  strain  may  be  in  only 
one  small  muscle  group,  such  as  that  which  moves 
the  finger. 

It  must  be  repeated,  in  order  that  there  shall  be 
no  misunderstanding,  that  in  all  such  instances, 
the  impulses  may  be  so  far  in  the  initial  stage  that 
there  is  no  movement  produced  and  frequently 
not  even  a  consciousness  of  strain  or  of  other 
similar  sensations.  The  nervous  set  is  capable 
of  influencing  perception,  even  though  it  remains 
completely  unconscious  and  is  discoverable  only 


DESCRIPTION  OF  EMPATHY  127 

when  the  conditions  are  suddenly  altered,  as  in 
the  example  on  page  111.  Professor  Titchener,  who 
believes  that  the  effect  of  empathy  can  be  the 
result  of  unconscious  processes  has  written  in  an- 
other connection:  "We  have  learned,  again,  that 
physiological  conditions  may  produce  their  effect 
not  within  but  upon  consciousness;  that  nervous 
sets  and  tendencies  may  direct  the  course  of  con- 
scious processes  without  setting  up  new  and 
special  processes  of  their  own.  .  .  .'*  ^ 

§  4.  Description  of  Empathy  by  Art  Critics 

In  the  writings  of  artists  one  finds  many  refer- 
ences to  empathic  responses.  In  fact,  their  de- 
scriptions are  very  frequently  in  terms  of  movement 
and  sensations  of  strain  and  touch,  although  as  a 
rule  they  have  not  analyzed  their  attitude  so  com- 
pletely in  psychological  terms,  as  has  Mr.  Bernard 
Berenson  who  has  stated:  "To  realize  the  play  of 
muscles  everywhere,  to  get  the  full  sense  of  the 
various  pressures  and  resistances,  to  receive  the 
direct  inspiration  of  the  energy  expended,  we 
must  have  the  nude;  for  here  alone  can  we  watch 
those  tautnesses  of  muscle  and  those  stretchings 
and  relaxings  and  ripplings  of  skin  which,  trans- 
lated into  similar  strains  in  our  own  person,  make 
us  fully  realize  movement."  ^  Mr.  Berenson  dis- 
tinguishes between  actual  sensations  of  strain 
and  pressure  in  the  muscles  such  as  he  would  have 

^  Experimented  Psychology  of  the  Thought  Processes,  p.  38. 

*  The  Florentine  Painters  of  the  Renaissance,  pp.  86-87.   See  also  pp.  50-46. 


128  EMPATHY 

in  viewing  two  men  wrestling,  and  which  would 
be  too  fatiguing  for  artistic  enjoyment,  and  the 
imagination  of  movement  suggested  by  the  lines 
of  a  statue.  Such  images  of  movement  he  terms 
"movement  values,'*  just  as  he  uses  the  term 
"tactile  values"  for  the  sensations  he  gets  in 
fingers  and  palm,  when  in  his  imagination  he  runs 
his  hands  over  the  lines  and  surfaces,  and  thus 
perceives  their  true  form.  What  Mr.  Berenson 
prefers  to  call  "imagination  of  movement,"  is 
probably  identical  with  the  incipient  tendencies 
to  movement  and  motor  set  as  described  above. 
Mr.  Berenson  has  relied  greatly  upon  these  values, 
and  it  is  undoubtedly  in  part  due  to  the  promi- 
nence he  has  given  them  in  his  own  consciousness 
that  he  is  the  most  unerring  of  modern  art  critics, 
for  it  is  through  the  muscle  sensations  that  we  can, 
with  practice,  make  the  finest  discrimination  of 
line  and  shape,  although  the  clue  to  such  discrimi- 
nations will  appear  to  come  directly  through  the 
eye. 

The  Japanese  have  always  been  particularly 
successful  in  imparting  meaning  through  very 
subtle  differences  in  line  and  shape  as  well  as  tone. 
They  have  been  especially  successful  in  imparting 
life  and  motion  to  their  lines  whether  they  repre- 
sent growing  things  as  trees  and  grass,  or  moving 
objects  such  as  waves  of  the  sea  or  graceful  float- 
ing draperies  or  other  inanimate  objects  of  which 
motion  is  an  essential  characteristic.  In  view  of 
this  talent,  it  seems  worth  while  to  quote  at  length 


DESCRIPTION  OF  EMPATHY  129 

from  a  description  of  the  instructions  which  are 
imparted  to  the  Japanese  students  in  order  to 
make  them  proficient  in  this  art:  **  A  distinguishing 
feature  in  Japanese  painting  is  the  strength  of  the 
brush  stroke,  technically  called  fude  no  chikara  or 
ftide  no  ikioi.  When  representing  an  object  sug- 
gesting strength,  such,  for  instance,  as  a  rocky- 
cliff,  the  beak  or  talons  of  a  bird,  the  tiger's  claws, 
or  the  limbs  and  branches  of  a  tree,  the  moment 
the  brush  is  applied  the  sentiment  of  strength 
must  be  invoked  and  felt  throughout  the  artist's 
system  and  imparted  through  his  arm  and  hand 
to  the  brush,  and  so  transmitted  into  the  object 
painted;  and  this  nervous  current  must  be  con- 
tinuous and  of  equal  intensity  while  the  work  pro- 
ceeds. If  the  tree's  limbs  or  branches  in  a  paint- 
ing by  a  Kano  artist  be  examined,  it  will  astonish 
any  one  to  perceive  the  vital  force  that  has  been 
infused  into  them.  Even  the  smallest  twigs  ap- 
pear filled  with  the  power  of  growth — all  the  result 
of  fude  no  chikara.  Indeed,  when  this  principle 
is  understood,  and  in  the  light  of  it  the  trees  of 
many  of  the  Italian  and  French  artists  are  critic- 
ally viewed,  they  appear  flabby,  lifeless,  and  as 
though  they  had  been  done  with  a  feather.  They 
lack  that  vigor  which  is  attained  only  by  fude  no 
chikara,  or  brush  strength. 

"  In  writing  Chinese  characters  in  the  REI  SHO 
manner  this  same  principle  is  carefully  inculcated. 
The  characters  must  be  executed  with  the  feeling 
of  their  being  carved  on  stone  or  engraved  on 


130  EMPATHY 

steel — such  must  be  the  force  transmitted  through 
the  arm  and  hand  to  the  brush.  Thus  executed 
the  writings  seem  imbued  with  Hving  strength. 

"It  is  related  of  Chinanpin,  the  great  Chinese 
painter,  that  an  art  student  having  applied  to  him 
for  instruction,  he  painted  an  orchid  plant  and  told 
the  student  to  copy  it.  The  student  did  so  to  his 
own  satisfaction,  but  the  master  told  him  he  was 
far  away  from  what  was  most  essential.  Again 
and  again,  during  several  months,  the  orchid  was 
reproduced,  each  time  an  improvement  on  the 
previous  effort,  but  never  meeting  with  the  master's 
approval.  Finally  Chinanpin  explained  as  follows : 
The  long,  blade-like  leaves  of  the  orchid  may  droop 
toward  the  earth,  but  they  all  long  to  point  to  the 
sky,  and  this  tendency  is  called  cloud-longing 
(BO  UN)  in  art.  When,  therefore,  the  tip  of  the 
long  slender  leaf  is  reached  by  the  brush  the  artist 
must  feel  that  the  same  is  longing  to  point  to  the 
clouds.  Thus  painted,  the  true  spirit  and  living 
force  (kokoromochi)  of  the  plant  are  preserved."  ^ 

Comments  are  not  necessary.  It  is  very  evident 
the  student  is  encouraged  to  cultivate  to  a  high 
degree  the  empathic  attitude.  The  following 
description  from  the  pen  of  Kenyon  Cox,  although 
not  referring  directly  to  empathy,  shows  without 
doubt  that  the  artist  has  cultivated  a  very  strong 
motor  adjustment:  "Straight  lines  will  always  ex- 
press rigidity  and  stiffness  while  curves  will  ex- 
press some  sort  of  growth  or  motion;  .  .   .  The 

^  On  the  Laws  of  Japanese  Painting,  by  Henry  P.  Bowie,  pp.  35-36. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  EMPATHY  131 

horizontal  line  is  always  suggestive  of  repose;  it 
is  the  line  of  resting  water,  of  the  earth  of  alluvial 
plains,  of  everything  that  has  reached  a  state  of 
equilibrium.  The  vertical  line  is  a  line  of  stability, 
of  di  ect  opposition  to  the  force  of  gravity,  of 
strength  and  vigor.  .  .  .  In  the  double  or  S-shaped 
curve,  unless  it  is  very  restrained  in  its  degree  of 
curvature,  there  is  nearly  always  a  sense  of  vo- 
luptuousness and  floridity  which  may  sink  to 
feebleness  and  aimlessness,  like  a  limp  string.  It 
is  the  characteristic  line  of  the  baroque  and  the 
rococo.  .  .  .  All  these  characters  of  lines  may  be 
the  result  of  association,  or  they  may  have  some 
deeper  reason,  but  they  are  there,  in  the  hues 
themselves,  without  regard  to  what  the  lines  may 
be  used  to  represent,  and  are  among  the  most 
valuable  means  of  artistic  expression."  * 

It  is  interesting  to  note  the  feelings  such  as 
"feebleness  and  aimlessness"  which  the  quality 
of  the  movements  suggest.  ^  It  is  these  induced 
feelings  which  underlie  much  of  what  is  meant  by 
the  spirit  of  various  forms  of  architecture.     The 


1  Concerning  Painting,  pp.  45-46. 

2  Dr.  Helge  Lundholm  is  at  present  engaged  at  the  Harvard  Psychological 
Laboratory  in  an  investigation  of  the  empathic  response  to  various  lines. 
He  has  found  that  certain  curves  seem  to  represent  more  rapid  movement 
than  others.  Different  moods  can  also  be  induced  in  the  observer,  according 
to  the  degree  of  curvature  and  angularity  of  the  lines.  Furthermore  there 
is  a  general  agreement  in  the  response  of  those  taking  part  in  the  experi- 
ment when  they  are  asked  to  draw  a  line  which  is  sad,  joyous,  angry,  lazy, 
etc.  In  Dr.  Lundholm's  book  Om  Objektiva  Faktorer  I  Konsten,  pp.  46-93, 
there  is  an  introspective  account  of  the  effect  of  lines.  This  book  has  not, 
as  yet,  been  translated. 


132  EMPATHY 

perpendicular  lines  of  the  Gothic  as  given  in  the 
tall,  thin  columns  and  the  upward  curve  of  the 
arches,  arouse  in  many  persons  the  mood  de- 
scribed as  *' spiritual,"  a  mood  which  is  felt  as  an 
intrinsic  characteristic  of  such  construction.  The 
eye  follows  the  unbroken  line  skyward  and  one 
feels  the  uplift  of  the  walls  and  columns.  This  is 
also  seen  in  Gothic  figures  where  the  height  is 
often  somewhat  accentuated  in  relation  to  the 
width  and  the  folds  of  the  dress  fall  in  unbroken 
perpendicular  lines.  There  is  even  an  avoidance 
of  any  hint  toward  the  horizontal  in  the  arms  and 
legs,  which  are  modelled  in  straight  lines  without 
bend  at  elbow  and  knee.  If  we  turn  quickly  from 
a  photograph  of  a  Gothic  interior  to  one  of  the 
Renaissance,  there  is  an  empathic  shock.  In  the 
latter,  the  horizontal  is  almost  purposely  empha- 
sized, and  one  feels  the  breadth  and  the  weight. 
The  same  is  to  some  extent  true  also  in  the  Renais- 
sance sculpture,  and  in  the  figures  portrayed  in 
the  paintings  of  the  period.  We  feel  ourselves 
drawn  more  toward  the  earth  than  in  the  percep- 
tion of  the  Gothic.  The  Renaissance  palaces  of 
Florence,  as  for  instance  that  of  Palazzo  Riccardi, 
give  us  most  decidedly  this  feeling  and  when  we 
analyze  the  construction,  we  observe  that  the 
sweep  upward  is  broken  by  the  horizontal  molding 
on  the  fagade  which  marks  the  various  floors. 
It  may  be  that  the  desire  honestly  to  express  the 
interior  arrangement  of  the  various  floors  is  one 
reason  for  the  addition  of  the  molding,  but  the 


DESCRIPTION  OF  EMPATHY  133 

effect  produced,  that  of  breadth  and  repose  rather 
than  height  and  aspiration,  is  too  closely  related 
to  the  spirit  of  the  time  as  shown  in  all  its  other 
forms  of  art  not  to  be  the  chief  motive  for  this 
construction. 

It  must  be  added  that  some  persons  do  not  get 
the  upward  thrust  of  the  Gothic  as  just  described, 
especially  those  who  are  accustomed  to  think  of 
the  force  of  gravity  whenever  they  view  archi- 
tectural construction.  For  them  the  thrust  is 
always  downward,  and  although  they  get  the  effect 
of  the  perpendicular,  they  do  not  get  that  feeling 
of  relative  lightness  which  is  caused  by  the  up- 
ward movement  counteracting  gravity.  For  them 
the  Gothic  must  have  a  very  different  meaning, 
and  this  is  one  more  instance  of  the  dependence 
of  the  appeal  upon  the  particular  adjustment  of 
the  individual.  Indeed,  if  it  were  not  for  these 
differences  the  change  in  art  forms  would  have  been 
very  much  slower.  ^ 

1  Alexander  Bain  in  The  Sense  and  the  Intellect  has  referred  in  several 
places  to  the  effect  of  ideas  of  muscular  exertion  upon  our  appreciation  of 
objects  of  beauty.  On  page  361  he  writes :  "  Having  experience  of  the  weight 
of  a  piece  of  stone  of  a  certain  appearance,  we  associate  the  appearance  with 
the  weight,  the  one  suggesting  the  other;  so  with  hardness  or  tenacity.  In 
this  way,  we  have  an  associated  connexion  between  substances  and  their 
uses  founded  on  these  properties.  We  acquire  a  strong  feeling  of  the  differ- 
ence between  timber  and  stone,  and  between  stone  and  metal,  and  demand 
that  each  should  be  differently  proportioned  in  all  kinds  of  erections  and 
mechanical  operations.  It  has  been  remarked  that  our  sense  of  Architec- 
tural proportions  is  founded  on  our  experience  of  stone,  and  would  require 
to  be  re-adjusted  if  iron  were  as  universally  employed."  There  is  a  similar 
reference  on  page  577  and  in  The  Emotions  and  the  Will,  pages  Stii-iM,  there 
is  a  description  of  the  r6le  that  perception  of  the  force  of  gravity  plays  in  the 
"beauty  of  support." 


134  EMPATHY 

If  one  turns  to  an  art  historian,  such  as  Pro- 
fessor Wolffin,  who  studies  the  development  of 
moods  and  feeHngs  in  art,  and  who  has  the  insight 
to  portray  the  personality  of  the  artist  as  expressed 
in  his  art,  rather  than  in  his  domestic  altercations 
and  butcher's  bills,  one  finds  in  almost  every  page 
of  his  books  some  intimation  of  the  dynamic  force 
in  paintings,  architecture  and  sculpture  as  realized 
through  empathy.  To  select  a  description  at 
random,  that  of  the  Sistine  Madonna  in  Dresden, 
one  reads:  "No  longer  seated  on  the  clouds,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  Madonna  di  Foligno,  but  rather 
standing  erect,  floating  above  the  clouds  as  a 
vision  which  can  be  seen  for  a  moment,  only  .  .  . 
thus  did  Raphael  paint  the  Madonna.  .  .  .  The 
direct  emergence  out  of  the  picture,  the  spring  at 
the  spectator  must  always  be  connected  with  an 
unpleasant  impression,  .  .  .  The  motij  of  pro- 
gression is  a  wonderfully  light  swaying  walk.  The 
analysis  of  the  unusual  relations  of  balance  in  her 
body,  the  direction  of  the  lines  in  the  widely  flow- 
ing mantle,  and  the  gown  rustling  backward  are 
only  in  part  an  explanation  of  the  remarkable 
effect;  it  is  of  importance  that  the  saints  to  the  right 
and  left  do  not  kneel  on  the  clouds,  but  sink  into 
them.  .  .  ."  1  Those  who  have  attended  Profes- 
sor Wolfflin's  lectures  and  have  observed  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  uses  his  hands  and  arms,  and  inclines 
his  head  from  side  to  side,  as  he  describes  the  pic- 
tm^es,  know  that  he  first  feels  himself  the  light  and 

^  Die  Klassische  Kunst,  pp.  124-5. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  EMPATHY  135 

floating  walk,  the  tri-dimensionality,  the  solidity, 
the  tautnesses  of  muscle,  the  expression  of  the 
hands,  and  the  countless  other  dynamic  features 
that  he  has  found  of  importance  in  the  study  of 
the  various  periods  in  the  history  of  art. 

Students  of  rhetoric  will  recall  A.  S.  HilFs  re- 
marks upon  what  Ruskin  terms  the  "pathetic 
fallacy,"  which  is  the  means  by  which  "writers 
of  artistic  description  sometimes  undertake  to 
transfer  their  emotions  to  inanimate  objects."  * 
Among  the  examples  which  Ruskin  gives  is  one 
from  Alton  Locke: 

"  They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam — 
The  cruel,  crawling  foam." 

It  is  quite  evident  that  the  poet's  impression 
here  described  is  produced  by  empathic  response. 
"The  foam  is  not  cruel,  neither  does  it  crawl,"  adds 
Ruskin,  who,  not  realizing  that  this  projection  of 
one's  own  set  in  the  inanimate  object  is  the  usual 
attitude,  to  a  certain  extent  condemns  as  false 
such  forms  of  expression.  He  believes  that  "We 
shall  find  the  greatest  poets  do  not  often  admit 
this  kind  of  falseness  .  .  .  that  it  is  only  the 
second  order  of  poets  who  much  delight  in  it." 
But  as  Hill  says,  "Here  as  elsewhere,  Mr.  Rus- 
kin is  so  eager  to  express  his  views  strongly, 
that  he  says  more  than  he  means."  ^  Knowing 
that  Ruskin  with  his  highly  developed  artistic  sense 

*  Principles  of  Rhetoric,  p.  267. 
» Ibid,  p.  261. 


136  EMPATHY 

must  inevitably  have  felt  the  dynamic  quality  of 
architecture,  and  that  it  would  appear  in  his  writ- 
ings, it  was  only  necessary  for  us  to  take  down  one 
of  Ruskin's  books  to  find  a  passage  such  as  the 
following:  "Many  of  us  are  familiar  with  the  or- 
dinary form  of  the  Italian  bell  tower  or  campanile. 
From  the  eighth  century  to  the  thirteenth  there 
was  little  change  in  that  form;  four-square,  rising 
high,  and  without  tapering  into  the  air,  story  above 
story,  they  stood  like  giants  in  the  quiet  fields.  .  .  . 
Their  ruins  still  frown  along  the  crests  of  every 
promontory  of  the  Apennines.'*  ^ 

Probably  one  of  the  most  vivid  experiences  of 
empathy  that  we  can  have  is  in  perceiving  an  ob- 
ject that  we  realize  is  not  well-balanced  and  may 
fall  at  any  moment,  as  for  instance,  in  witnessing 
one  acrobat  balancing  another  at  the  end  of  a  long 
pole.  As  the  acrobat  in  the  air  sways  back  and 
forth  on  the  verge  of  plunging  head  first  into  the 
orchestra,  the  audience  goes  through  at  low  tension 
all  of  his  contortions.^  Whenever  the  balance  is  in- 
secure, the  empathic  response  will,  as  a  rule,  be  of 
an  unpleasant  nature,  a  fact  which  the  artist  does 
not  always  bear  sufficiently  in  mind.  Even  Michael 
Angelo,  in  his  superb  de  Medici  monument,  did 
not  make  the  support  for  the  limbs  of  the  recum- 

^"The  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture,  section  entitled,  "Lectures  on  Ar- 
chitecture and  Painting,"  p.  238.    (Italics  not  in  the  original.) 

*  Adam  Smith  in  his  chapter  on  "Sympathy"  has  described  the  writhing 
and  twisting  of  a  mob  in  watching  a  slack-rope  dancer.  He  does  not,  how- 
ever, develop  this  idea  further  in  the  direction  of  empathy.  {Moral  Senti- 
ments, sec.  1,  chap.  1.) 


DESCRIPTION  OF  EMPATHY  137 

bent  figures  on  the  tomb  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici 
sufficiently  evident,  so  that  for  some  observers 
the  figures  seem  about  to  slip  off  the  incline. 

In  the  drama,  the  empathy  is  always  very  strong, 
and  for  the  correct  aesthetic  attitude,  we  should 
empathize  in  all  the  characters  as  they  in  turn  take 
up  the  action.  This  usually  happens  when  one  is 
entirely  absorbed  in  the  play.  At  times,  however, 
the  character  is  portrayed  in  a  manner  foreign  to 
our  experience  or  understanding.  In  that  case 
it  is  impossible  for  us  to  respond  empathically, 
that  is,  to  live  in  the  character.  The  effect  on  the 
observer  is  unpleasant.  The  character  is  judged 
to  be  badly  drawn  and  untrue  to  life. 

The  term  "sympathy"  may  be  used  by  some 
persons  uncritically  in  instances  such  as  that 
just  described.  We  may  say  that  we  are  not  in 
sympathy  with  the  play  or  the  actors,  but  strictly 
speaking,  sympathy  should  not  be  confused  with 
empathy.  The  latter  is  feeling  in  the  object. 
One's  own  personality  is  merged  and  fused  in 
that  of  some  external  thing.  Sympathy  is  feeling 
with;  instead  of  being  merged  in  the  object,  our 
feelings  run,  so  to  speak,  parallel  with  the  object. 
The  difference  between  the  one  sympathizing 
and  the  object  of  sympathy  is  always  sgmewhat 
present  in  consciousness.  The  ego  is  to  some  extent 
represented  in  consciousness  in  the  form  of  self- 
satisfaction,  so  that  the  sympathetic  response  can 
never  be  an  aesthetic  one.  One's  sympathy  is 
usually  expressed  in  terms  of  subject  and  object: 


138  EMPATHY 

"I  sympathize  sincerely  with  you,"  while  one's 
empathy  is  in  terms  of  the  object:  "the  man  walks 
awkwardly." 

§  5.  Gracefulness 

A  very  evident  example  of  empathy  is  that  of  the 
perception  of  gracefulness  in  objects.  A  graceful 
motion,  as  Spencer  correctly  explained,  is  a  "mo- 
tion that  is  effected  with  economy  of  force;  grace, 
as  applied  to  animal  form,  describes  forms  capable 
of  this  economy;  grace,  as  applied  to  postures, 
describes  postures  which  may  be  maintained  with 
this  economy;  and  grace,  as  applied  to  inanimate 
objects,  describes  such  as  exhibit  certain  analogies 
to  these  attitudes  and  forms."  ^  Spencer  did  not 
specifically  mention  empathy  in  this  connection  but 
he  clearly  indicated  such  a  process  when  he  wrote: 
"How  trees  and  inanimate  objects  should  come  to 
have  this  epithet  applied  to  them,  seems  less  ob- 
vious. But  remembrance  of  the  fact  that  we  com- 
monly, and  perhaps  unavoidably,  regard  all  ob- 
jects under  a  certain  anthropomorphic  aspect, 
will  help  us  to  understand  it.  The  stiff  branch  of 
an  oak  tree  standing  out  at  right  angles  to  the 
trunk,  gives  us  a  vague  notion  of  great  force  ex- 
pended to  keep  it  in  that  position;  and  we  call  it 
ungraceful,  under  the  same  feeling  that  we  call  the 
holding  out  an  arm  at  right  angles  to  the  body 

^  "  Gracefulness,"  first  published  in  the  Leader  for  December  25,  1852. 
Essays;  Scientific,  Political,  and  Speculative,  Williams  and  Norgate,  1901,  p. 
881. 


GRACEFULNESS  139 

ungraceful.  Conversely,  the  lax  drooping  boughs 
of  a  weeping-willow  are  vaguely  associated  with 
limbs  in  attitudes  requiring  little  effort  to  maintain 
them;  and  the  term  graceful,  by  which  we  describe 
these,  we  apply  by  metaphor  to  the  boughs  of 
the  willow."  *  That  it  is  easier  to  move  in  sweep- 
ing curves  than  in  abrupt  turns,  is  very  evident, 
so  that  when  we  speak  of  a  graceful  curve,  our 
reference  is  ultimately  to  our  own  movement  as 
suggested  by  the  line.  The  awkward  skater,  who 
half  falls  and  half  slips,  arouses  such  movement 
in  the  observer  and  the  perception  is  a  painful 
one.  The  riding  instructor  admonishes  his  pupil 
against  flapping  his  arms  up  and  down  in  riding. 
The  correct  attitude,  as  dictated  by  the  laws  of 
grace,  is  to  avoid  all  unnecessary  movement,  to 
sit  quietly  in  the  saddle  so  that  one's  movements 
coincide  with  those  of  the  horse.  This  requires 
some  skill,  but  when  attained  it  is  a  joy  to  the  em- 
pathic  observer. 

The  fewer  movements  a  bird  makes  in  flying, 
the  greater  the  pleasure  to  the  eye,  and  when  it 
soars  without  any  visible  movement  of  its  wings 
it  gives  one  a  keen  delight.  The  sight  of  an  air- 
plane in  flight  gives  one  a  similar  pleasure.  The  ob- 
server cannot  see  the  movement  of  the  motor; 
the  machine  glides  through  the  air  without  ap- 
parent effort,  just  as  one  would  most  desire  to  move, 
and  the  effect  is  of  that  highly  pleasurable  quality 
which  is  experienced  in  dream  flights.    The  fancy 

» Op.  eU.,  pp.  385-S86. 


140  EMPATHY 

skater  aims  at  the  same  economy  of  effort  and  the 
nearer  he  comes  to  it,  the  more  highly  his  skill  is 
praised.  Mr.  George  H.  Browne,  an  expert 
skater  and  judge  of  contests,  offers  testimony  in 
regard  to  empathy:  "My  own  experience  in 
judging  skating  competitions  is  in  complete  ac- 
cord with  this  [concept  of  empathy] ;  my  empathetic 
participation  in  the  action  frequently  is  so  intense 
that  awkward  movements  or  unexpected  ineffi- 
ciencies in  the  contestants  almost  give  me  physical 
pain;  if  seated,  I  often  find  myself  on  the  very  edge 
of  my  chair;  if  on  my  skates,  I  can  hardly  keep 
still;  and  sometimes  I  have  to  exert  strong  will, 
not  always  successfully,  to  keep  from  making  some 
audible  or  active  demonstration.  I  doubt  if  the 
winners  .  .  .  got  much  more  aesthetic  pleasure 
out  of  their  actual  performance,  .  .  .  than  I  did 
in  following  *  empathetically '  their  brilliant  pro- 
gram." ^  Mr.  Browne  has  made  a  study  of  the 
graceful  movements  of  swimmers  and  skaters, 
and  has  interviewed  several  of  them.  The  most 
famous  woman  swimmer  said  of  her  art :  " '  I  depend 
on  no  one  part  of  the  body,  but  in  all  parts  rela- 
tively to  the  whole.  2  The  beauty  of  movement  de- 
pends on  the  success  of  its  muscular  economy.  In 
diving,  the  grace  of  movement  lasts  from  beginning 
to  end,  when,  e.  g.,  the  line  formed  by  the  body 
completes  itseff  in  the  air  and  the  body  enters  the 


*  The  Esthetics  of  Motion,  pp.  31-32. 

>  Thu  is  aa  important  point  relative  to  the  enjoyment  of  unity. 


GRACEFULNESS  141 

water  without  a  splash — ^then  it  is  a  finished  per- 
formance.'" ^ 

The  movements  of  the  snake  are  for  many  very 
fascinating.  Here  one  empathizes  in  the  move- 
ment of  an  animal  which  arouses  no  movements 
in  one's  own  legs,  yet  conveys  the  idea  of  motion. 
When  a  man  or  animal  is  of  such  weight  that  one 
knows  from  experience  that  its  locomotion  will  be 
diflScult,  then  the  impression  conveyed  is  one  of 
awkwardness.  The  empathic  response  is  painful 
even  before  the  creature  moves.  The  mere  sight 
of  the  rhinoceros,  to  use  the  amusing  example  of 
Spencer,  is  unpleasant  as  compared  with  that  of  a 
race-horse. 

The  acrobat  attempts  to  eliminate  all  signs  of 
effort  from  his  facial  expression.  As  a  rule  he 
smiles  during  his  performance  thus  increasing  the 
impression  of  ease.  If  he  shows  signs  of  heavy 
breathing  or  wrinkles  his  brow  in  effort,  etc.,  the 
act  does  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  the  au- 
dience. In  piano  recitals  the  experienced  musician 
well  knows  that  he  should  give  as  little  outward 
expression  as  possible  of  the  effort  with  which  he 
must  at  times  strike  the  keys  to  produce  his  loud 
effects.  Therefore,  musicians  with  little  muscular 
strength  should  not  attempt  compositions  requir- 
ing the  use  of  an  effort  that  is  beyond  their  ca- 
pacity. Unless  they  are  concealed  from  the  au- 
dience, they  produce  the  same  painful  impression 

^  Op.  cii..  p.  35. 


142  EMPATHY 

as  does  a  golfer  who  hits  beyond  his  strength  at 
the  ball. 

The  psychological  explanation  of  the  percep- 
tion of  grace  in  inanimate  objects  differs  only 
slightly  from  that  of  the  graceful  impression  made 
by  moving  objects.  From  what  has  already  been 
stated  regarding  empathy  the  manner  in  which 
the  lines  of  the  object  suggest  movement  to  the 
observer  will  be  understood.  Art  depends  upon 
such  psychological  processes  to  transmit  the  pleas- 
m*e  of  graceful  lines  and  forms. 

This  chapter  has  been  concerned  chiefly  in 
explaining  empathy  by  examples  from  the  visual 
arts,  but  it  was  not  the  intention  to  convey  the 
impression  that  empathy  is  limited  to  any  special 
field  of  art.  Auditory  as  well  as  visual  rhythm  is 
transmitted  to  the  observer  by  that  process.  In- 
deed, empathy  is  an  essential  part  of  musical  en- 
joyment. Perhaps  its  importance  may  seem  least 
evident  in  literature,  but  even  here  much  of  the 
effect  is  produced  by  the  dynamic  appeal  both  in 
the  form  and  content  of  literary  compositions, 
whether  it  is  prose  or  poetry. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  EMPATHY  FROM  THE 
FINE  ARTS 

§  1.  Force  and  Movement 

In  order  to  explain  more  fully  how  our  empathic 
reaction  is  responsible  for  what  is  termed  style, 
mode,  and  feeling  in  art,  and  how  a  know  edge  and 
analysis  of  this  response  increases  the  appreciation, 
let  us  examine  the  empathic  suggestions  in  the 
lines  of  some  of  the  better  known  sculptors  and 
painters. 

In  the  first  place,  it  should  be  noted  that  the 
strength  of  the  empathic  response  is  not  deter- 
mined by  the  amount  of  movement  represented  in 
the  statue  or  picture.  There  could  scarcely  be  a 
stronger  empathic  reaction  than  that  induced  by 
Verrocchio's  statute  of  General  Colleoni  in  Venice 
(Fig.  4),  which  represents  the  warrior  seated  on  his 
charger.  The  horse  is  not  represented  as  prancing 
or  in  rapid  motion.  The  only  action  conveyed 
is  that  of  a  very  slow,  forward  movement,  sug- 
gested by  the  position  of  the  left  hind  leg  and  the 
raising  of  the  left  fore  leg.  It  is  not  so  much  mo- 
tion as  force  that  the  artist  wishes  to  portray, 
and  that  one  feels  in  every  line— in  the  muscles 
of  the  horse,  especially  in  the  raised  leg  and  the 
neck,  in  the  tense  position  of  the  rider,  in  his 


144       EMPATHY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

square  jaw  and  the  muscles  of  his  face,  in  the  grip 
of  his  toes  in  the  stirrup,  in  the  bend  of  the  elbow 
which  points  aggressively  toward  the  observer. 
Even  the  angular  turn  of  the  horse's  tail,  gives  one 
the  sense  of  power.  Nothing  can  stop  either  horse 
or  master,  and  so  tense  does  one  become  as  one 
stands  before  it  that  the  enjoyment  is  almost 
painful.  Not  to  have  such  an  experience  is  not  to 
know  the  Colleoni.  How  great  our  reaction  is 
can  be  most  readily  observed  if  we  will  turn  from 
a  photograph  of  this  masterpiece  to  some  of  the 
modern  statues  of  military  heroes  in  our  public 
squares.  Our  own  muscles  will  relax  in  response 
and  the  figure  instead  of  appearing  to  be  of  flesh 
and  bone  will  seem  of  hollow  lifeless  bronze.  There 
is  little  doubt  that  the  physical  strength  of  the 
artist  is  a  condition  of  the  amount  of  empathy 
suggested,  for  he  must  himself  feel  in  his  own  body 
the  pose  of  his  group.  To  a  weak  individual,  too 
violent  empathy  is  painful  and  is  avoided.  Statues 
by  women  sculptors  most  frequently  show  this 
lack  of  force.  One  feels  the  listless  droop  of  the 
arm,  the  lack  of  weight  of  the  body,  and  the  rel- 
atively slight  expression  in  the  posture. 

This  communication  of  force  and  motion  is  not  a 
late  development.  The  early  Greeks  expressed 
it  very  clearly,  though  sometimes  awkwardly,  as 
for  instance,  in  the  representation  of  the  battle 
between  Hercules  and  the  Amazon  in  the  Metope 
from  Selinus  in  the  Museum  of  Palermo  (Fig.  5). 
Not  only  is  there  action  in  the  posture  of  attack. 


Fig.  4. — Equestrian  statue  of  General 
CoUeoni,  Venice. 


Fig.   5. — Metope   from   Selinus,  Museum, 
Palermo. 


Fig,  8. — Thorn  Extractor,  Palazzo  dei 
Fig.   6. — Maiden,   Acropolis  Conservatori,  Rome. 

Museum,  Athens. 


Fig.  7. — Water  Carriers,  Parthenon  Frieze,  Acropolis  Museum,  Athens. 


FORCE  AND  MOVEMENT  145 

but  we  do  not  obtain  the  complete  effect  until 
we  experience  the  pressure  of  the  foot  of  Hercules 
upon  that  of  the  Amazon,  and  the  grip  of  the  toes 
as  they  bend  over  her  foot.  The  Greeks  of  the 
classical  period  indicated  very  clearly  the  weight 
of  the  limbs  and  body  and  the  poise  of  the  head. 
If  the  arm  is  outstretched,  we  feel  that  it  is  held 
up  with  suflScient  strength,  but  overemphasis  of 
effort  is  avoided  by  not  representing  the  muscles 
too  realistically.  Of  the  factors  which  contrib- 
uted largely  to  the  impression  of  lack  of  effort 
is  the  expression  of  the  face,  which  in  their  greatest 
works  suggested  supreme  calm.  Of  the  countless 
examples  of  this,  mention  might  be  made  of  the 
Venus  of  Melos  in  Paris,  and  of  Praxiteles'  Hermes 
at  Olympia.  Even  the  early  works  suggested  this 
quali  y,  as  in  the  archaic  statue  of  a  maiden  at  the 
Acropolis  Museum  in  Athens  (Fig.  6),  where  the 
expression  is  one  of  serenity,  although  the  folds 
of  the  dress  and  the  braiding  of  the  hair  suggest 
a  certain  restlessness  not  found  in  later  works,  or 
in  one  of  the  earlier  pieces  such  as  the  figures  of 
the  water  carriers  in  the  Parthenon  Frieze  in  the 
Acropolis  Museum  in  Athens  (Fig.  7),  where  we  can 
empathize  in  the  arms  holding  the  vase  and  feel 
that  it  is  firmly  supported,  and  that  it  has  weight, 
and  yet  not  be  disturbed  by  the  exertion  of  the 
men,  since  their  faces  show  no  sign  of  their  labor, 
and  therefore  suggest  no  feeling  of  effort. 

It  is  only  because  of  this  technique  that  the 
Greeks  were  able  to  use  human  figures,  as  for  ex- 


146       EMPATHY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

ample  the  Caryatides  of  the  Erectheum,  to  support 
the  roof  of  a  building.  There  is  sufficient  evidence 
in  the  body  of  the  women  to  indicate  that  a  weight  is 
being  supported,  but  the  faces  are  without  lines  of 
effort  so  that  one  can  empathize  in  them  without 
pain.  Thus  does  one  feel  the  idealism  of  Greek  art. 
If  we  compare  this  treatment  with  modern  concep- 
tions such  as  the  giant  figures  supporting  the  front 
of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  at  Tours,  we  shall  notice  that 
the  latter  are  bent  over,  with  muscles  contracted 
in  great  lumps,  an  almost  agonized  expression  on 
their  faces.  Although  the  feeling  suggested  may 
to  a  certain  extent  typify  the  spirit  of  the  time, 
yet  it  is  from  such  experiences  that  we  generally 
desire  to  escape  when  we  turn  to  the  beautiful. 

When  extreme  empathy  was  wanted,  the  Greeks 
could  obtain  it,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  marvelous 
sweep  of  the  Victory  of  Samathrace  in  the  Louvre, 
where  we  feel  the  flutter  of  every  fold  of  the  drapery 
and  the  wild  drive  forward  against  the  breeze.  The 
Discus  Thrower  is  another  example  where  strong 
empathy  in  the  suggested  movement  is  irresistible. 
A  very  delightful  bit  of  empathy  is  that  suggested 
by  the  statue  from  the  School  of  Myron,  of  the 
Thorn  Extractor  in  the  Palazzo  dei  Conservatori 
in  Rome  (Fig.  8).  Here  the  attention  is  concen- 
trated upon  the  fingers  which  grasp  the  thorn. 

At  the  time  of  the  Renaissance  the  empathic  ap- 
peal of  the  sculptor  was  very  great.  For  a  strong 
contrast  in  the  motives  of  works  of  art,  and  from 
this  to  the  difference  in  the  temperaments  of  ar- 


Fig.  9. — David,  by  Dona- 
tello,  Bargello,  Florence, 


Fig.  10. — Moses,  by  Michael  Angelo,  San 
Pietro  in  Vincoli,  Rome. 


Fig.  11. — Aurora,  by  Guido  Reni,  Palazzo  Rospigliosi,  Rome. 


FORCE  AND  MOVEMENT  147 

lists,  as  discernible  by  our  active  perception,  we 
may  compare  a  statue  by  Donatello,  such  as  his 
David  in  the  Bargello  in  Florence  (Fig.  9),  with 
one  by  Michael  Angelo,  for  instance  the  statue  of 
Moses  in  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli  in  Rome  (Fig.  10). 
Both  of  them  produce  an  unavoidable  empathy  in 
every  line,  In  the  Donatello  one  feels  the  tilt  of 
the  body,  the  graceful  bend  of  the  right  arm,  the 
delicate  lines  of  the  left  arm,  the  soft  folds  of  the 
mantle,  the  dreamy  idealism  of  the  face;  the  slender 
figure  stands  firmly  poised,  assurance  and  confi- 
dence in  every  curve,  yet  with  all  the  lightness  that 
expresses  the  joy  of  youth  and  the  happiness  of 
being  alive.  In  the  Moses  the  note  is  one  of  weight, 
power,  and  severity.  The  muscles  of  our  arms  con- 
tract, and  our  feet  cling  more  firmly  to  the  ground, 
as  we  view  the  statue.  The  figure  is  huge,  power- 
ful, and  heavy,  and  even  the  mantle  over  the  knee 
and  the  massive  beard  both  convey  through  their 
suggested  weight  the  idea  of  the  inflexible  will  of 
the  leader.  It  is  not  necessary  to  know  the  history 
of  the  man.  Every  line  of  the  figure,  as  one  experi- 
ences it,  gives  an  indication  of  his  character  and  of 
the  idea  of  which  he  is  a  symbol.  In  both  statues 
the  lines  alone  impart  the  meaning  of  the  work, 
which  is  so  different  in  the  two  instances,  and  be- 
hind this  meaning  the  temperaments  of  the  two  so 
contrasting  artists. 

In  painting  we  have  also  strong  sensations  of 
power  or  of  swift  irresistible  motion,  according  to 
the  purpose  of  the  artist,  and  the  empathic  partic- 


148       EMPATHY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

ipation  is  almost  if  not  quite  as  complete  as  it  is  in 
statuary.  As  an  illustration  of  motion,  Guido 
Reni's  Aurora  in  the  Palazzo  Rospigliosi  in  Rome 
(Fig.  11)  may  be  chosen.  Not  only  do  we  realize 
the  movement  of  the  galloping  horses  and  the  rolling 
clouds,  and  the  wind-tossed  robes,  but  the  lines  of 
the  composition  are  for  the  most  part  arranged  to 
induce  motion  in  only  one  direction.  Four  of  the 
figures,  the  leading  muse,  the  angel,  Apollo,  and 
the  muse  in  the  foreground,  have  outstretched  arms 
which  suggest  motion  toward  the  right.  How  very 
subtle  are  the  directing  influences  of  lines  may  be 
seen  from  the  fact  that  the  movement  is  some- 
what retarded  by  the  half-turn  toward  the  left 
of  the  bodies  of  several  of  the  figures.  This  is  un- 
doubtedly done  for  the  sake  of  unity,  but  the  effect 
is  to  cause  in  us  a  slight  movement  in  the  opposite 
direction,  which  somewhat  counteracts  the  main 
movement. 

An  interesting  contrast  effect  may  be  obtained 
by  the  examination  of  Perugino's  Pieta  in  the  Acad- 
emy in  Florence  (Fig.  12)  with  Raphael's  Entomb- 
ment in  the  Villa  Borghese  in  Rome  (Fig.  13).  The 
former  has  used  every  means  to  avoid  a  feeling  of 
weight  or  unusual  use  of  the  muscles.  Very  little 
of  the  body  of  Christ  rests  on  the  lap  of  the  Virgin, 
and  the  drapery  is  so  arranged  that  no  strain  can 
be  observed.  In  order  to  take  up  the  dead  weight, 
figures  are  placed  on  either  side  to  hold  the  head 
and  feet.  Even  they  show  no  evidence  of  exertion. 
This  absence  is  especially  noticeable  in  the  figure 


Fig.  12. — Pieta,  by  Perugino,  Academy,  Florence. 


Fig.  13. — Entombment,  by  Raphael,  Villa  Borghese, 
Rome. 


FORCE  AND  MOVEMENT  149 

which  holds  the  head  and  shoulders.  If  we  em- 
pathize in  the  supporting  arms  we  feel  no  eJBFect  of 
the  force  of  gravity.  The  hands  rest  under  the 
armpits  of  the  Christ,  but  they  do  not  seem  to  bear 
the  weight  of  the  body.  The  mechanical  evidence 
of  support,  nevertheless,  is  given,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  Caryatides,  and  the  eye  is  satisfied.  If  this  had 
not  been  done,  there  would  be  an  empathic  move- 
ment in  the  opposite  direction.  The  body  would 
appear  to  fall  and  the  empathic  movement  aroused 
would  be  extremely  unpleasant.  Added  to  the 
lack  of  muscular  strain  in  the  figm-es  is  the  serenity 
of  all  the  faces,  so  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  pic- 
ture is  one  of  calmness  and  dignity,  such  as  is 
found  in  intense  and  deeply  felt  sorrow.  Raphael, 
on  the  other  hand,  represents  the  body  of  Christ 
being  carried  by  two  stalwart  men  who  pull  in 
opposite  directions  upon  the  winding  sheet,  which 
holds  the  body.  Feet  are  braced  firmly,  backs  are 
bent,  and  the  neck  muscles  stand  out  in  welts.  In 
harmony  with  this  expression  of  effort  are  the  signs 
of  grief  on  the  faces  of  those  about  the  central 
group.  The  effect  on  the  beholder  through  partici- 
pation in  this  display  of  active  force  and  emotional 
vehemence  is  very  violent.  To  turn  from  Peru- 
gino  to  Raphael  is  like  going  from  the  dignified  serv- 
ice of  the  church  out  into  the  turmoil  of  an  hyster- 
ical mob. 


150       EMPATHY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

§  2.  Weight 

A  study  of  the  manner  in  which  the  different 
artists  have  represented  the  Madonnas  holding  the 
Christ-child  offers  excellent  evidence  of  the  vari- 
ous intensities  of  empathy  and  their  effect  upon  the 
spirit  of  the  picture.  In  the  Madonna  and  Child, 
of  the  Florentine  School,  XV  Century  (Fig.  14)  in 
the  Corsini  Gallery  in  Florence  the  Child  stands  on 
the  knee  of  the  Virgin,  but  there  is  no  impress  such 
as  the  weight  would  naturally  produce.  Given  no 
such  clue  to  weight,  we  do  not  react  to  the  force 
of  gravity  and  accept  the  fact  without  uneasiness 
that  the  hands  of  the  Madonna,  delicately  touch- 
ing the  Child  as  they  would  grasp  the  tender  stem 
of  a  rose,  could  not  possibly  steady  the  stout  little 
body.  The  same  effect  is  produced  in  the  Ma- 
donna, Child  and  Angels,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli,  in 
the  Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum  in  Berlin  (Fig.  15). 
Here  the  Child,  again  a  well-nourished  little  figure, 
stands  on  the  arm  of  the  throne,  but  since  the  little 
leg  muscles  do  not  indicate  action,  and  since  the 
mantle  on  which  it  stands  has  no  impress  of  weight, 
we  have  the  pleasant  feeling  of  the  Child  standing 
without  the  necessity  of  support  by  the  Virgin. 
Its  little  outstretched  hand  rests  on  the  neck-scarf 
of  its  Mother,  but  no  downward  pull  is  indicated 
so  that  we  do  not  suffer  even  the  slightest  distress 
which  a  tug  at  the  delicate  neck  would  cause.  Un- 
natural it  all  is,  but  done  with  the  evident  purpose, 
which  has  actually  been  achieved,  of  presenting 


Fig.  14. — Madonna  and  Child,  Floren- 
tine School,  XV  Century,  Corsini  Gal- 
lery, Florence. 


Fig.  15. — Madonna,  Child  and 
Angels,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli, 
Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum,  Berlin. 


Fig.  16. — Holy  Family,  by  a 
pupil  of  Botticelli,  Pitti  Gallery, 
Florence. 


Fig.  17. — Madonna  and  Child, 
by  Raphael,  Kaiser  Friedrich 
Museum,  Berlin. 


Fig.   18. — Granduca  Madonna,  by- 
Raphael,  Pitti  Gallery,  Florence. 


Fig.  19. — Holy  Family,  Venetian 
School,  XVI  Century,  Palazzo  dti 
Conservatori,  Rome. 


Fig.  20. — Madonna  of  the  Harpies,  by 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  UfEzi,  Florence. 


WEIGHT  151 

bodies  of  flesh  and  blood  without  the  idea  of 
weight.  Even  more  round  and  heavy  is  the  Child 
in  the  Holy  Family,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli  in  the 
Pitti  Gallery  in  Florence  (Fig.  16),  but  the  artist 
has  made  even  clearer  to  the  observer  that  the 
plump  little  feet  make  no  impress  upon  the  knee 
of  the  Virgin.  There  is  no  doubt,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  the  infants  in  Raphael's  pictures  have 
weight.  In  the  picture  of  the  Madonna  and  Child 
in  the  Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum  in  Berlin  (Fig.  17), 
there  is  an  impress  in  the  Child's  body  where  it 
rests  on  the  Virgin's  lap.  Our  hand  curves  with 
the  Virgin's  as  it  clasps  the  Child's  back;  or  where 
in  the  Granduca  Madonna  in  the  Pitti  Gallery  in 
Florence  (Fig.  18),  it  forms  a  seat  for  the  Infant. 
Compare  the  bent  fingers  of  the  Madonnas  in 
these  latter  pictures  with  those  of  the  Madonnas  of 
Botticelli,  which  are  loosely  outstretched. 

In  the  Holy  Family  of  the  Venetian  School,  XVI 
Century,  in  the  Palazzo  dei  Conservatori  in  Rome 
(Fig.  19),  we  feel  the  strength  in  the  hands  and  arms 
of  Joseph  as  he  holds  the  Child  toward  the  Virgin 
while  she,  no  longer  slight  and  ethereal,  clasps  the 
massive  book  with  an  effort  that  is  somewhat  lui- 
pleasant  in  such  a  scene.  Andrea  del  Sarto,  in  the 
Madonna  of  the  Harpies  in  the  Uffizi  in  Florence 
(Fig.  20),  thinking  the  one  hand  of  the  Virgin  in- 
suflScient  to  hold  the  Child,  as  Raphael  thought, 
places  its  foot  on  a  stool  which  is  held  by  her  other 
hand  and  supported  by  her  knee.  In  this  picture 
we  feel  most  strongly  the  force  of  the  living,  active 


152       EMPATHY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

Child,  and  the  efforts  of  a  woman  to  hold  a  very 
large  and  restless  infant.  Small  wonder  that  the 
tired  visitor  to  the  gallery  finds  more  rest  in  the 
contemplation  of  a  Perugino  or  a  Botticelli  than 
that  of  a  Madonna  and  Child  of  a  later  period. 

The  manner  in  which  the  figures  of  the  picture 
stand  upon  the  ground  has  a  very  strong  influence, 
if  not  the  strongest  influence,  upon  the  empathic 
response,  because  through  the  expression  of  the 
limbs  and  especially  of  the  feet,  the  observer  ob- 
tains his  idea  of  the  force  of  gravity  involved.  In 
the  pictures  of  the  earlier  periods,  as  for  instance, 
in  Fra  Angelico's  fresco  representing  St.  Lawrence 
receiving  the  Treasures  of  the  Church  which  is  in 
the  Chapel  of  Nicholas  V  in  the  Vatican  (Fig.  21), 
the  figures  are  often  robed  to  cover  the  feet,  and  as 
there  is  scarcely  any  outline  of  the  body  we  are 
given  very  little  clue  as  to  weight.  In  such  pic- 
tures when  the  legs  are  exposed,  the  foot  lies  flat  on 
the  ground  with  no  evidence  of  pressure,  and  the 
muscles  of  the  legs  are  not  indicated.  Botticelli 
and  Botticini  also  purposely  avoided  a  feeling  of 
weight,  and  examination  of  the  former's  Spring 
(Fig.  22)  or  the  latter's  Tobias  and  the  Angels  in  the 
Academy  in  Florence  (Fig.  23),  will  reveal  that  the 
figures  stand  on  their  toes  with  as  little  effort  as  on 
their  feet.  This  is  especially  evident  in  the 
Spring.  No  matter  how  they  stand,  no  differ- 
ence is  made  in  the  drawing  of  the  legs.  The  skin 
is  smooth  and  unbroken  by  the  outlines  of  contract- 
ing muscles.     In  several  of  the  figures,  although 


WEIGHT  15S 

they  are  standing  on  their  toes,  the  latter  are  not 
even  bent  by  the  weight,  the  foot  being  a  straight 
Hne  from  toe  to  heel.  Even  the  fish  that  Tobias 
carries  seems  to  be  made  of  papier  mdche,  if  we 
judge  from  the  manner  in  which  it  is  held.  To  add 
to  the  effect,  the  arms  and  other  lines  point  upward, 
thus  directing  the  empathy  contrary  to  gravity. 

Botticelli  and  Botticini  do  achieve  the  results 
they  desire,  for  when  we  empathize  in  their  figures, 
we  float  rather  than  walk.  This  absence  of  the  feel- 
ing of  weight,  although  condemned  by  some  as  un- 
natural and  overdrawn,  is  greatly  admired  by 
others,  especially  those  of  rather  weak  physique, 
who  welcome  such  emancipation  as  a  delightful 
relief  from  the  burden  of  their  bodies  as  experienced 
under  real  conditions.  These  artists*  neglect  of 
gravitation  undoubtedly  brings  them  a  measure  of 
unpopularity.  For  contrast,  one  has  but  to  turn 
to  Antonio  Pollaiuolo's  picture  of  David  in  the 
Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum  in  Berlin  (Fig.  24).  The 
legs  are  apart,  braced  to  support  the  body,  and  the 
feet  grip  the  ground  with  the  toes  bent  downward 
and  the  big  toe  somewhat  separated  from  the 
others.  In  Botticelli's  figures,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  is  little  spread  to  the  toes. 

For  the  strongest  empathy  one  always  turns  to 
Michael  Angelo.  Even  in  his  seated  figures,  as  for 
instance,  the  Sibyls  and  Prophets  on  the  ceiling 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel  in  the  Vatican,  the  effect  of 
the  weight  is  very  strongly  shown  in  the  feet.  In 
the  crossed  feet  of  the  Prophet  Isaiah  (Fig.  25),  the 


154       EMPATHY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

toes  are  almost  bent  double,  although  the  weight 
is  only  from  the  hip,  and  in  the  Cumsean  Sibyl 
(Fig.  26)  the  toes  are  well  spread  out.  The  em- 
pathic  appeal  in  the  superb  balance  of  forces  in  the 
figures  is  too  well  known  to  require  description. 
Even  such  subtle  differences  in  manner  of  drawing 
the  toes  are  suflficient  to  be  perceived,  and  to  act 
as  important  cues  for  our  general  attitute  toward 
the  picture,  as  we  can  readily  convince  ourselves 
by  carefully  examining  these  various  paintings. 
Frequently  it  only  requires  such  small  differences, 
whether  in  fine  arts,  music,  or  in  other  fields,  to 
change  the  entire  mood  of  the  work  of  art. 

§  3.  Lines  Expressive  of  Moods 

Botticelli  and  his  pupils  knew  well  the  value  of 
the  empathic  effect  of  lines  upon  mood.  This  is 
clearly  evident  from  the  clever  way  in  which  they 
arranged  the  hair  in  their  portraits.  In  the  Portrait 
of  a  Young  Woman,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli  in  the 
Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum  in  Berlin  (Fig.  27)  the 
hair  has  the  form  of  restless  waves,  and  a  heavy 
braid  hangs  down  on  one  side.  The  face  is  full  of 
animation  and  the  restlessness  we  feel  in  the  hair  is 
in  harmony  with  the  temperament  of  the  girl.  In 
the  Portrait  of  a  Young  Woman  by  the  artist  called 
Amico  di  Sandro  in  the  Pitti  in  Florence  (Fig.  28), 
the  hair  is  brushed  almost  straight  back  from  the 
face;  only  one  strand  escapes.  The  woman  in  the 
latter  picture  is  represented  in  a  pensive  quiet 
mood.    Even  the  dress  has  few  curved  lines  as  com- 


Fig.  22. — Spring,  by  Botticelli,  Academy,  Florence. 


Fig.  23. — Tobias  and  the  Angels,  by  Botticini,  Academy,  Florence. 


LINES  EXPRESSIVE  OF  MOODS         155 

pared  with  that  in  the  former  picture  where  the  rest- 
lessness in  the  costume  is  enhanced  by  cross-stitch 
trimming,  and  four  black  strings  of  a  necklace  cross 
one  another.  In  the  latter  picture,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  trimming  is  very  plain  and  a  single  cord 
falls  in  a  straight  line  from  the  neck. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  best  examples  of  calmness, 
peace,  and  spiritual  mystery  as  indicated  by  lines, 
is  the  Vision  of  St.  Ursula  by  Carpaccio  in  the 
Academy  in  Venice  (Fig.  29).  Almost  everywhere 
in  the  picture  we  move  in  straight  lines  which  meet 
at  right  angles,  and  thus  impede  movement;  seldom 
is  there  a  curved  line.  Even  the  arm  under  the 
Saint*s  head  is  bent  in  a  right  angle  at  the  wrist  and 
again  at  the  knuckles.  The  little  body  is  out- 
stretched under  the  coverlets  with  a  slight  indica- 
tion of  the  upturned  feet.  Fancy  the  change  in 
tone  if  the  bed  were  in  rococo  style;  if  garlands 
decorated  the  wall;  if  the  little  Saint  were  curled 
up  in  her  bed,  and  the  Angel  were  flying  toward  her 
instead  of  standing  quietly  near  the  wall. 

The  portrayal  of  St.  Sebastian's  martyrdom  by 
various  artists  affords  a  good  opportunity  for  com- 
parison. The  general  content  of  the  picture,  of  a 
Saint  bound  to  a  tree  and  pierced  by  arrows,  is  the 
same  in  all  the  pictures.  The  differences  in  the 
suggested  empathy,  however,  make  a  varied  series, 
as  for  example,  Botticelli's  picture  in  the  Kaiser 
Friedrich  Museum  in  Berlin,  the  picture  ascribed 
to  PoUaiuolo  in  the  Pitti  in  Florence,  and  Guido 
Reni's  in  the  Palazzo  dei  Conservatori  in  Rome.    In 


156       EMPATHY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

the  Botticelli  (Fig.  30)  the  hands  are  comfortably 
behind  the  back,  one  leg  is  slightly  in  front  of  the 
other  in  a  restful  position,  the  lines  of  the  body  are 
quiet,  and  the  face  is  devoid  of  any  expression  of 
pain.  In  Guido  Reni's  (Fig.  31)  the  face  is  calm 
with  a  somewhat  ecstatic  and  sentimentally  re- 
ligious expression;  there  is  no  writhing  of  the  body, 
although  the  hands  are  bound  in  an  uncomfort- 
able position  above  the  head,  and  the  folds  of  the 
loin  cloth  are  vigorously  intertwined.  In  the  Pol- 
laiuolo  (Fig.  32),  however,  the  cords  about  the  arms 
eat  into  the  flesh  as  the  muscles  expand  with  pain, 
and  the  body  leans  forward  and  to  the  side  in 
agony.  Suffering  is  depicted  upon  the  face.  In  the 
first  two  pictures,  the  arrows  have  plunged  deep 
into  the  body  in  numerous  places,  but  this  is  not 
felt  as  particularly  disagreeable  by  the  observer 
since  the  lines  of  the  body  induce  no  painful  re- 
sponse. Pollaiuolo,  however,  having  vividly  sug- 
gested suffering  to  the  observer,  does  not  dare 
follow  this  treatment  of  the  arrows.  Instead  of 
there  being  a  half  dozen  in  chest,  abdomen^  and 
leg,  he  has  painted  only  two  and  these  have  merely 
pierced  the  fleshy  part  of  leg  and  arm. 

The  two  Portraits  in  Flemish  Costume  after  the 
manner  of  Van  der  Goes  in  the  Uffizi,  Florence 
(Fig.  33)  offer  a  striking  contrast  in  the  treatment 
of  weight,  especially  in  respect  to  the  hands.  The 
man  holds  a  small  book  firmly  grasped  in  the  two 
hands,  but  as  it  is  very  light,  full  expression  is 
given  to  the  act  of  holding  the  weight.  The  woman. 


Fig.  21. — St.  Lawrence  Receiving 
the  Treasures  of  the  Church,  by  Fra 
Angelico,  Chapel  of  Nicholas  V, 
Vatican,  Rome. 


Fig.  24. — David,  by  Antonio 
Poliaiuolo,  Kaiser  Friedrich  Mu- 
seum, Berlin. 


Fig.  25. — Isaiah,  by  Michael  Angelo, 
ceiling  of  Sistine  Chapel,  Vatican, 
Rome. 


Fig.  26. — Cumaean  Sibyl,  by  Michael 
Angelo,  ceiling  of  Sistine  Chapel, 
Vatican.  Rome. 


LINES  EXPRESSIVE  OF  MOODS         157 

however,  has  an  extremely  heavy  book  and  as  it 
would  be  unpleasant  for  the  observer  to  feel  the 
effort  necessary  to  hold  it,  especially  as  it  concerns 
a  woman,  the  hands  are  folded  as  in  prayer,  and 
the  book  rests  upon  them  without  bearing  down 
any  more  than  if  it  were  made  of  air.  That  is, 
there  is  nothing  in  the  manner  in  which  the  arms 
and  hands  are  drawn  to  indicate  that  any  weight 
is  being  held.  Naturalness  is  again  sacrificed  in 
order  to  spare  the  feelings  of  the  observer. 

As  a  last  example  of  the  differences  in  empathy, 
attention  might  be  called  to  the  treatment  of  hands 
by  the  artists  of  various  schools  and  periods.  We 
feel  that  some  hands  are  devoid  of  all  energy,  that 
they  rest  flabbily  on  the  arms  of  chairs,  tables,  or 
in  the  lap,  while  others  grasp  an  object  with 
strength  and  vigor.  A  comparison  of  this  differ- 
ence in  treatment  by  Velasquez  and  by  Van  Dyke 
is  alone  almost  sufficient,  without  further  analysis 
of  their  pictures,  to  give  us  an  important  and  fun- 
damental difference  in  the  characteristics  of  the 
two  artists. 


CHAPTER  VII 
UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

§1.  Attention  A  Unifying  Process 

The  preceding  chapter  attempted  to  explain  in 
detail  the  nature  of  the  motor  reaction  or  set  of  the 
organism  in  perception,  and  particularly  in  the  en- 
joyment of  beauty,  and  it  has  been  already  stated 
that  the  law  of  unity  is  a  fundamental  one  in  aes- 
thetics because  it  is  also  a  fundamental  law  of  mind. 
It  will  now  be  possible  to  show  why  this  is  true, 
and  why  we  desire  and  search  for  unity  in  the  ob- 
jects about  us,  whether  they  are  natural  or  arti- 
ficial. 

Whenever  the  organism  is  surrounded  by  one  or 
more  objects,  it  tries  to  adapt  itself  to  them.  That 
is,  it  attempts  to  assume  some  form  of  motor  at- 
titude toward  them.  This  is  commonly  known  as 
directing  our  attention  to  the  object,  and  the  organ- 
ism is  then  said  to  perceive  it.  The  organism 
cannot  assume  more  than  one  attitude  at  a  time, 
if  there  is  a  conflic  ;  that  is,  the  nervous  system 
involved  in  the  movement  cannot  be  integrated 
in  two  different  patterns  at  once.  The  attention 
to  different  musical  compositions  involves  very 
different  coordinations  of  empathic  responses,  but 
since,  normally,  the  very  same  muscle  groups  are 
employed,  it  is  impossible  to  listen  to  two  pieces  of 


Fig.     27.— Portrait     of     a     Young  Fig.   28.— Portrait    of   a   Young 

Woman,     by    a    pupil    of    Botticelli,  Woman,  by  an  artist  called  Amico 

Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum,  Berlin.  di  Sandro,  Pitti  Gallery,  Florence. 


Fig.  29. — Vision  of  St.  Ursula,  by  Carpaccio, 
Academy,  Venice. 


ATTENTION  A  UNIFYING  PROCESS     159 

music  simultaneously.  Although  there  are  times 
when  we  seem  to  attend  to  two  totally  different 
situations  at  once,  as  when  we  listen  to  two  differ- 
ent conversations,  it  is  probable  that  an  alterna- 
tion of  attention  is  here  involved.  It  is  also  pos- 
sible under  certain  conditions  for  one  group  of 
muscles  to  assume  one  attitude,  and  another  set  a 
different  one  at  the  same  time,  as  in  automatic 
writing,  where  the  hand  writes  while  the  voice  car- 
ries on  an  unrelated  conversation;  but  the  individ- 
ual is  conscious  of  only  one  of  these  acts  at  a  time. 
When  we  are  confronted  with  a  multiplicity  of 
objects  we  observe  in  ourselves  a  high  degree  of 
restlessness.  There  is  a  searching  among  the  ob- 
jects for  some  resemblance,  some  means  by  which 
they  can  be  related  one  to  another.  In  the  con- 
templation of  the  stars,  we  may  for  the  moment  be 
emotionally  stirred  by  their  distance  and  number, 
and,  because  of  the  lack  of  form  and  relation,  by 
the  infinite  possibilities  and  mystery  of  the  scene, 
as  Dr.  Santayana  has  pointed  out.^  It  is  not  long, 
however,  before  we  begin  to  search  for  relations  be- 
tween the  stars  and  to  group  them  into  various 
forms,  so  that  we  may  the  more  clearly  perceive 
and  remember  certain  portions  of  the  firmament. 
With  what  pleasure  a  child  sees  for  the  first  time 
the  Dipper,  and  the  various  other  imaginary  forms 
in  the  heavens.  How  much  more  do  we  think  we 
understand  things  when  the  stars  appear  to  group 
themselves,  and  are  thus  perceived  as  large  units. 

1  The  Sense  of  Beauty,  pp.  100  et  seq. 


160  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

Hours  are  spent  in  contemplating  the  shapes  in  the 
flames  of  an  open  fire,  that  is  in  uniting  the  out- 
Hnes  into  definite  forms,  or  in  finding  figures  in 
the  veining  of  the  marble  facings  of  the  fireplace. 
This,  of  course,  involves  imagination,  for  we  supply 
the  images  from  past  experience,  through  the  sug- 
gestions offered  by  the  lines,  the  result  being  that 
the  lines  themselves  always  appear  to  be  in  some 
way  objectively  grouped.  Indeed,  whenever  there 
is  a  multiplicity  of  objects  we  must  perceive  them 
as  grouped  into  some  form,  if  we  are  to  perceive 
them  at  all  clearly,  and  this  unity  of  form  corre- 
sponds to  that  unification  of  the  organism  which  is 
necessary  in  its  response.  We  may  then  speak  of 
form  as  the  objective  correlate  of  the  inner  unity 
of  the  various  muscle-groups  of  the  organism, 
which  may  be  described  figuratively  as  bearing 
the  same  relation  to  the  total  response  as  do  the 
spokes  to  the  whole  wheel. 

§  2.  Limits  to  Unification 

There  is,  then,  for  the  mind,  always  a  possibility 
of  unity  in  multiplicity,  and  the  act  of  discovering 
the  unity  is  in  itself  a  pleasure.  It  will  be  seen  later 
that  the  amount  of  the  enjoyment  varies  with  the 
ease  of  this  act  of  unification.  First  it  is  necessary 
to  inquire  whether  every  multiplicity  is  capable 
of  unification  and  to  what  extent.  As  has  been 
stated,  in  order  to  unify  objects,  the  mind  seeks  to 
relate  certain  of  its  aspects.  Objects,  however,  as 
mere  units  can  be  brought  together  in  relation 


Fig.  30.— St.  Se- 
bastian, by  Botti- 
celli, Kaiser  Fried- 
rich  Museum,  Ber- 
lin. 


Fig.  31. — St.  Sebastian,  by  Guido  Reni, 
Palazzo  dei  Conservatori,  Rome. 


Fig.  32.— St.  Se- 
bastian, ascribed 
to  PoUaiuolo,  Pitti 
Gallery,    Florence. 


Fig.  33. — Two  portraits  in  Flemish  Costume  after  the 
manner  of  Van  der  Goes,  Uffizi,  Florence. 


LIMITS  TO  UNIFICATION  161 

through  our  response.  As  Dr.  Santayana  states  it: 
"The  elements  may  be  all  alike  and  their  only 
diversity  be  numerical.  This  unity  will  then  be 
merely  a  sense  of  their  uniformity."  ^  But  there 
is  a  limit  to  the  possibility  of  such  unification,  for 
the  objects  must  not  be  too  numerous.  Some  of  the 
earliest  experiments  in  the  psychological  laboratory 
were  devised  so  as  to  discover  how  many  dots  can 
be  clearly  perceived  if  they  have  no  relation  to  one 
another  other  than  the  fact  that  they  are  visual 
stimuli  of  the  same  quality.  Each  dot  was  equally 
distant  from  its  neighbor.  It  was  found  that  one 
can  perceive  five  or  six  such  objects  if  they  are  ex- 
posed to  the  eye  for  only  a  fraction  of  a  second,  and 
that  all  beyond  this  number  are  not  observed. 
The  same  was  found  for  letters  and  numbers  when 
arranged  in  meaningless  order.  'They  could  be  in- 
dividually recognized  up  to  six  as  the  outside  limit, 
with  certain  individual  variations.  That  is,  a  ner- 
vous pattern  can  be  formed  and  suflSciently  inte- 
grated for  five  or  six  isolated  units  so  that  a  single 
response  can  include  this  number  of  units  simul- 
taneously. When  a  series  of  similar  dots,  equally 
spaced,  is  exposed  to  the  observer  for  a  longer 
period  of  time,  the  mind  has  a  tendency  to  arrange 
them  into  groups,  but  of  not  over  six  units  each. 
There  will  be  a  certain  quality  in  the  awareness  of 
these  groups,  a  quality  of  form  which  makes  one 
feel  that  the  individual  elements  of  the  group  be- 
long together;  and  generally  it  will  be  observed 

^  Op.  cU.,  p.  97. 


162  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

that  the  spatial  distance  between  groups  seems  to 
be  greater  than  between  individual  units  of  the 
same  group,  although  the  objective  distance  is  the 
same.^  When  thus  grouped,  many  more  units  can 
be  perceived,  for  each  group  is  then  perceived  as  a 
unit  of  a  higher  order.  But  again,  these  higher 
units  cannot  exceed  six,  and  there  is  a  limit  to  the 
formation  of  successively  higher  and  more  compli- 
cated unifications,  which  depends  to  some  extent 
upon  the  experience  and  training  of  the  individual. 
This  psychological  law,  which  is  termed  "the  span 
of  perception,"  is  applicable  to  all  qualities  of 
sensation.  One  can  perceive  and  distinguish  sep- 
arately five  or  six  sounds  without  counting  or 
grouping  them,  such  as  the  striking  of  the  clock. 
Any  number  over  that  we  break  into  groups,  as  for 
example,  seven  strokes  into  groups  of  four  and  three. 
In  fact,  in  audition  there  is  a  strong  tendency  to 
subdivide  even  three  or  four  units  into  groups.  It 
is  seldom  that  we  can  hear  a  short  series  of  sounds 
without  breaking  it  up  into  long  and  short  groups 
with  varying  degrees  of  accent.  The  fact  that  the 
ear  tends  to  group  sounds  and  cannot  hold  more 
than  six  has  been  of  fundamental  importance  in 
the  development  of  music. 

More  attention  should  be  given  the  law  in  fine 
arts  than  it  has  sometimes  received.  Frequently 
too  many  unrelated  or  loosely  related  objects  are 
placed  in  a  picture,  and  they  induce  either  bewil- 

*  Attention  was  called  to  this  fact  when  the  perception  of  the  figure  on 
page  25  was  described. 


LIMITS  TO  UNIFICATION  163 

derment  in  the  observer  or  an  arbitrary  rearrange- 
ment by  him.  The  same  law  obtains  in  touch,  and 
is  one  of  the  reasons  why  the  Braille  System  for  the 
blind  is  based  upon  various  arrangements  of  six 
raised  points,  which  are  felt  by  the  fingers.  Since 
not  more  than  six  points  are  used  for  one  letter, 
each  letter  can  be  felt  as  a  unit.  This  feature  makes 
the  system  simpler  for  the  user. 

It  is  clear  from  the  above  that  when  there  is 
unity  in  multiplicity,  as  in  the  repetition  of  the 
same  letter  of  the  alphabet,  there  will  be  a  breaking 
up  of  this  larger  unit  into  smaller  groups.  As  Dr. 
Santayana  has  stated,  a  mere  perception  of  uni- 
formity in  a  number  of  units  such  as  a  file  of  sol- 
diers or  the  railings  of  a  fence  is  deadly  monoto- 
nous and  not  to  be  endured.^  If  they  are  not 
somehow  broken  into  groups,  the  attention  will  not 
be  held.  The  other  extreme  is  entire  lack  of  uni- 
formity, as  in  the  succession  of  totally  different 
objects.  Still,  as  objects  they  admit  of  being 
grouped  and  a  certain  degree  of  unity  may  thus  be 
obtained.  Between  the  extremes,  there  are  all  de- 
grees of  similarity  as  a  basis  for  unification.^ 

It  is  probable  that  when  only  one  physical  ob- 
ject is  given,  there  is  a  search  for  a  relation  between 
its  various  characteristics,  or  attributes,  which 
relation  gives  it  structural  form  or  form  quality, 
as  it  is  sometimes  expressed. 

1  Op.  eit.,  p.  106. 

*  For  unity  in  multiplicity,  see  Fechner's  Vorschule  der  Msthetik,  part  I, 
pp.  53  et  seq. 


164  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

We  perceive  the  relation  between  the  various 
attributes  of  a  single  tone,  such  as  its  pitch  or  place 
in  the  scale,  its  intensity  or  loudness,  its  volume, 
that  is  whether  it  seems  small  as  do  high  tones,  or 
large  as  do  low  ones,  and  its  timbre,  or  the  number 
and  quality  of  its  overtones.  These  attributes  are, 
to  an  extent,  independent  variables.  They  are 
found  in  different  relations  to  one  another,  and 
give  the  tone  its  color  or  character.  The  same  is 
true  of  a  single  color;  the  relation  of  its  attributes, 
such  as  hue,  luminosity,  etc.,  gives  the  color  its 
form  quality.  In  short,  although  the  perception 
of  tones,  colors,  etc.,  seems  at  first  thought  a  very 
simple  process,  it  is,  in  reality,  the  result  of  the 
unification  of  a  number  of  characteristics;  and  the 
pleasure  we  obtain  in  such  perception  depends,  to 
some  extent,  upon  this  unity. 

There  is  also  present  the  pleasure  of  associated 
ideas;  for  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  percep- 
tion of  a  pure  sensation  independent  of  the  as- 
sociated factors  is  impossible  for  a  mind  that  has 
had  any  experience  whatever.  A  pure  sensation 
would  be  an  experience  without  any  meaning. 
The  natural  process  of  the  mind  is  to  relate  the 
present  with  past  experience,  which  is  the  basis 
of  recognition  and  is  in  the  nature  of  unifica- 
tion. Although  most  frequently  this  is  carried  on 
in  unconscious  rather  than  conscious  terms,  still 
there  is,  at  times,  a  conscious  relating  with  the  past. 

"That  is  a  likeness  of ,"  is  the  usual  remark 

on  seeing  a  portrait,  and  this  recognition  is  gener- 


LIMITS  TO  UNIFICATION  165 

ally  accompanied  by  a  certain  degree  of  pleasure, 
as  Aristotle  pointed  out  in  his  attempt  to  find 
an  explanation  for  the  aesthetic  pleasure  in  the 

ugly. 

If  it  were  not  the  case  that  there  is  such  activity 
in  the  perception  of  a  so-called  simple  sensation, 
it  would  have  to  be  concluded,  either  that  unity 
is  not  fundamental  to  aesthetic  pleasiu*e,  or  that 
single  sensations  such  as  color,  cannot  give  such 
pleasure;  that  there  is  only  pleasure  when  there  is 
combination  of  one  or  more  sensations,  as  pairs  of 
colors,  or  musical  tones.  Experience  teaches,  how- 
ever, that  for  many  individuals  there  is  a  decided 
pleasure  in  the  presentation  of  single  colors  and 
tones.  Nor  does  it  seem  necessary  to  restrict  the 
application  of  the  law  of  unity  by  stating  that  unity 
plays  no  part  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  single  color  in 
instances  where  such  enjoyment  is  independent  of 
associated  factors,  for,  as  has  been  stated,  it  may 
very  well  be  that  the  pleasure  derived  from  the 
contemplation  of  a  colored  surface  of  uniform  hue 
resides  in  the  distinct  activity  of  unifying  the 
different  characteristics  of  the  color  of  the  sur- 
face. 

Even  when  the  pleasure  is  solely  in  the  purity  of 
the  color  or  tone,  the  sense  of  unity  is  invoked,  but 
it  is  doubtful  whether  this  is  often  a  source  of  pleas- 
ure, since  such  contemplation  very  soon  becomes 
monotonous.  Fechner  recognized  this  fact,  yet  he 
remarked  that  "In  general  the  eye  likes  to  rest 
for  some  time  upon  a  panel  of  pure  color  especially 


166  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

when  the  nature  of  its  purity  comes  to  conscious- 
ness," etc.  ^ 

§  3.  Unification  an  Economy  of  Effort 

Beside  the  pleasure  in  unifying  a  series  into 
groups  according  to  the  law  of  perception,  there  is 
another  factor  that  must  be  considered,  namely, 
the  principle  of  economy  of  effort,  which  under- 
lies the  tendency  to  form  as  large  a  group  as  we  are 
capable  of  perceiving  as  a  whole.  Indeed,  if  this 
were  not  true,  why  should  not  the  organism  adjust 
itself  separately  to  each  one  of  a  series  of  dots  in- 
stead of  combining  them  into  groups.  It  has  been 
shown  that  not  only  are  such  units  combined  into 
groups,  but  there  is  always  a  tendency  to  combine 
groups  into  higher  groups  so  as  to  include  more 
and  more  elements  under  a  single  heading  until, 
as  in  the  case  of  a  picture,  the  parts  can  all  be 
grasped  simultaneously — that  is,  until  there  is  fi- 
nally one  total  adjustment  of  the  organism  in  the 
perception  of  the  picture. 

Generally  a  name  or  at  least  some  sort  of  mental 
symbol  is  given  both  to  small  units  and  to  those  of 
a  higher  order,  so  that  the  mind  may,  in  future 
reference,  adjust  itself  instantly  to  the  whole  situ- 
ation through  the  medium  of  the  symbol  instead 
of  having  to  recall  all  of  the  original  process  of  ad- 
justment, in  order  to  have  again  the  finished  per- 
ception and  the  accompanying  pleasure.  In  liter- 
ary   productions    this    mechanism    is    especially 

^  Vorachide  der  JEsthetik,  p.  59. 


UNIFICATION  AN  ECONOMY  OF  EFFORT    167 

obvious.  Here  we  find  the  letters  grouped  into 
words,  and  these  into  sentences,  paragraphs,  chap- 
ters, etc.,  until  tKere  is  the  finished  unit  of  the  whole 
book.  To  this  final  result  one  generally  attaches 
some  mental  symbol  of  one's  own  individual 
choice,  if  the  book  has  been  successful  as  a  work 
of  art,  and  has  as  a  finished  product  offered  such 
total  unity.  This  symbol  then  acts  as  a  cue  for  the 
renewal  of  that  final  more  or  less  complete  adjust- 
ment which  one  has  had  at  the  end  of  the  book, 
and  which  underlies  what  we  consider  the  general 
impression.  This  adjustment  becomes  less  and  less 
specific  in  detail  with  time,  but  so  long  as  the  gen- 
eral form  is  preserved  and  no  other  factor  enters 
in  the  meantime,  the  sense  of  the  original  aesthetic 
value,  though  not,  of  course,  the  vividness  of  the 
original  aesthetic  pleasure,  remains  as  strong  as  at 
first.  It  is  not  only  unnecessary  to  recall  the  de- 
tails of  the  book,  but  frequently  this  is  no  longer 
possible,  and  yet  we  are  just  as  cognizant  of  the 
degree  of  our  pleasure  as  at  the  time  of  finishing 
the  reading — ^sometimes  more  so.  That  such  a 
process  is  economical  is  obvious.  It  is  the  principle 
that  one  finds  not  only  in  aesthetic  reactions  but  in 
all  intellectual  processes;  otherwise  it  would  be 
impossible  for  the  organism  to  develop  beyond  a 
certain  stage,  for  its  mass  of  past  experience,  which 
must  be  used  for  future  progress,  would  become 
overwhelming.  The  aesthetic  unity,  therefore,  be- 
comes the  model  for  our  general  activity. 

From  the  foregoing  it  follows  that  the  mind  be- 


168  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

comes  more  highly  organized  and  action  becomes 
more  completely  systematized  the  more  fully  our 
appreciation  of  beauty  is  developed.  The  aesthetic 
enjoyment,  then,  instead  of  being  a  mere  indul- 
gence, is  seen  to  be  the  most  broadly  useful  and  far- 
reaching  of  all  our  activities.  As  its  influence  is  felt 
everywhere,  it  is  not  difficult  to  find  an  example  to 
illustrate  the  point.  When  spending  our  vacation 
at  the  seashore,  we  may  live  from  moment  to 
moment  without  a  thought  or  care  for  the  next 
hour  like  the  victims  of  mere  chance.  This  may 
be  for  some  of  us  a  very  restful  and  beneficial  at- 
titude, but  at  the  end  of  the  summer  our  impres- 
sions are  confused  and  instead  of  having  any  defi- 
nite and  pleasurable  reaction,  which  sums  up  the 
whole  period  of  self-indulgence,  we  are  left  with  a 
haze  of  mingled  joys  and  annoyances.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  have  planned  our  days  and  weeks, 
at  the  end  there  is  a  pattern  and  construction,  the 
realization  of  which  is  a  source  of  pleasure,  and  the 
memory  of  which  is  easily  retained  as  a  lasting  joy. 
The  vacation  has  thus  been  a  truly  beautiful  one 
and  the  pleasure  obtained  becomes  the  incentive 
for  more  valuable  achievements.  A  change  of  oc- 
cupation is  necessary  from  time  to  time;  of  that 
there  is  no  doubt,  and  that  is  why  there  are  vaca- 
tions, but  to  suppose  that  mere  disconnected 
pleasures  are  beneficial  is  contrary  to  the  funda- 
mental law  of  mind.  Such  pleasures  are  detri- 
mental, rather,  to  complete  success  in  life.  It  will 
probably  be  said  that  artists  are  as  a  class  most  un- 


UNITY  OF  FORM  AND  CONTENT       169 

systematic  in  their  lives,  and  that  the  law  of  unity 
in  aesthetics  has  no  influence  upon  their  general 
behavior.  This  is  true  of  many,  but  the  greatest 
among  them  have  given  evidence  of  a  high  degree 
of  organization  in  other  fields  of  activity  as  well. 
It  is  also  a  fact  that  those  who  have  shown  great 
executive  ability  in  big  business  undertakings, 
which  require  the  highest  sense  of  unity,  have,  con- 
trary to  the  general  notion  of  the  practical  man  of 
affairs,  a  keen  appreciation  of  beauty.  Many  ex- 
amples coul|i  be  cited  of  successful  bankers  and 
merchants  who  spend  their  spare  time  in  the  collec- 
tion of  pictures  and  in  literary  pursuits,  because  of 
their  sense  of  beauty  and  not  merely  for  the  sake 
of  collecting.  They  find  in  these  so-called  "hob- 
bies "  an  opportunity  to  exercise  the  same  func- 
tions that  they  have  learned  to  recognize  as  fun- 
damental to  their  success  in  business.  In  the 
enjoyment  of  their  hobby  they  are  able  to  experi- 
ence the  unifying  activity  in  its  purity,  and  with 
their  attention  more  directly  upon  it. 

§  4.  Unity  of  Form  and  Content 

Thus  far,  the  description  of  imity  has  been 
concerned  almost  entirely  with  the  mental  aspect. 
In  regard  to  this  topic,  however,  as  with  the  pre- 
vious one  of  empathy,  it  is  also  necessary  to  de- 
scribe the  other  side  of  the  aesthetic  relation, 
namely,  that  arrangement  of  the  object  which  is 
conducive  to  unity.  There  are  three  separate  ex- 
pressions of  unity  in  most  art  objects:  a  unity  of 


170  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

form,  a  unity  of  content,  and  a  unity  between  form 
and  content.  Unless  all  three  are  brought  to  the 
greatest  perfection,  there  will  not  be  complete  aes- 
thetic enjoyment. 

In  literature  as  much  insistence  has  been  placed 
upon  the  unity  of  the  formal  elements  as  upon  that 
of  the  meaning.  Nevertheless,  authors  frequently 
are  not  sufficiently  careful  about  the  arrangement 
of  the  words  into  sentences,  paragraphs,  etc.,  nor 
do  they  think  this  important,  the  interest  being 
primarily  upon  the  meaning  underlying  the  visual 
symbols.  The  symbols,  however,  are  related  to  one 
another,  not  only  through  the  ideas  for  which  they 
stand,  but  also  through  their  size,  spatial  relation, 
sound,  accent,  etc.,  that  is,  as  mere  sensory  im- 
pressions stripped  of  any  other  meaning,  and  both 
of  these  unities  must  be  strictly  considered  from 
the  standpoint  of  art. 

Although  unity  of  content  has  been,  for  the  most 
part,  a  comparatively  easy  factor  of  attainment, 
and  is  always  in  some  degree  present  in  literature, 
aesthetics  has  been  chiefly  concerned  with  the  plot, 
and  has  given  less  consideration  to  the  factor  of 
general  mood  or  peculiar  atmosphere  of  the  work 
of  art.  For  example,  the  reader  is  early  prepared 
for  light  or  serious  fiction,  for  a  biographical  or  an 
historical  sketch;  in  the  drama  the  audience  is  soon 
put  in  the  frame  of  mind  for  a  farce,  a  light  or  se- 
rious comedy,  or  a  tragedy.  It  is  the  writer's  task 
to  provide  the  means  by  which  we  may  become 
quickly  adjusted  to  the  general  mood  of  the  work. 


UNITY  OF  FORM  AND  CONTENT      171 

and  unless  the  same  general  tone  is  maintained 
throughout,  there  will  be  a  mental  jar,  and  conse- 
quent displeasure  analogous  to  the  experience  we 
have  if,  in  following  with  the  eyes  the  Renaissance 
lines  of  a  building,  we  come  suddenly  upon  a  Gothic 
treatment. 

It  is  true  that  the  greatest  playwright,  Shake- 
speare, has  introduced  comic  situations  into  his 
tragedy,  but  they  are  entirely  separate  from  the 
main  plot,  and  contain  characters  that  do  not 
otherwise  appear,  and  which  have  no  important 
relation  to  the  other  personages  of  the  play.  To 
have  one  of  the  principal  characters  appear  now  as 
a  serious  and  now  as  a  comic  figure,  would  be  fatal, 
unless  the  audience  has  been  prepared  for  the 
change  by  the  introduction  of  some  plausible  rea- 
son for  it.  As  Aristotle  has  written  concerning  the 
unity  of  character:  "The  fomi:h  point  is  consis- 
tency: for  though  the  subject  of  the  imitation,  who 
suggested  the  type,  be  inconsistent,  still  he  must 
be  consistently  inconsistent.  As  for  example.  .  .  . 
Iphigenia  at  Aulis, — ^for  Iphigenia  the  suppliant  in 
no  way  resembles  her  later  self . "  ^  Professor  George 
P.  Baker  has  recently  called  attention  to  the 
necessity  of  this  form  of  unity.  "Why  is  it  that  a 
play  which  begins  seriously  and  for  most  of  its 
course  so  develops,  only  to  end  farcically,  or  which 
begins  lightly  only  to  become  tragic,  leaves  us  dis- 
satisfied?   Because  the  audience  finds  it  diflicult  to 

^  Aristode^a  Theory  of  Poetry  and  Fine  Arts,  translated  by  S.  H.  Butcher, 
p.  55. 


172  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

readjust  its  mood  as  swiftly  as  does  the  author. 
The  Climbers  and .  The  Girl  with  the  Green  Eyes  of 
Clyde  Fitch  are  examples  in  point.  The  first  be- 
gins with  such  dignity  and  mysteriousness  that 
its  lighter  moods,  after  Act  I,  seem  almost  trivial. 
In  the  second  play,  the  very  tragic  scene  of 
the  attempted  suicide,  after  the  light  comedy 
touch  of  the  preceding  parts,  is  distinctly  jar- 
ring." 1 

In  the  early  period  of  painting,  artists  some- 
times attempted  to  portray  more  than  one  idea. 
Several  events  in  the  life  of  the  Holy  Family,  for 
example,  are  depicted  on  one  canvas,  but  this  is 
very  rarely  done  in  the  later  periods  of  art  develop- 
ment. Here  we  find  one  central  idea  and  even 
though  there  may  be  many  figures  engaged  in  va- 
rious forms  of  activity,  as  in  pictures  by  Tenier, 
where,  for  example,  one  finds  a  group  dancing  in 
the  foreground  and  drinking  and  horseplay  in 
other  parts  of  the  scene,  still  there  is  a  certain 
unity  in  the  general  idea,  although  this  is  often  so 
tenuous  that  it  needs  to  be  reinforced  by  careful 
balance  and  other  formal  factors.  Professor  Hilde- 
brand  has  very  well  expressed  the  importance  of  the 
spatial  factors  for  unity  as  compared  with  the  unify- 
ing power  of  the  subject-matter  of  the  picture. 
"Consider  an  imaginary  landscape.  Here  the  nat- 
ural organic  coherence  is  very  loose  as  compared 
with  that  of  a  human  body.  The  trees  may  stand 
here  or  there;  the  stream  may  follow  this  or  that 

^  Dramatic  Technique,  p.  111. 


UNITY  OF  EXPRESSION  AND  MEANING    173 

course;  the  hills  may  stretch  thus  or  so; — ^it  all  de- 
pends on  the  artist's  choice.  And  yet,  in  a  good 
landscape  we  are  conscious  of  a  certain  visual  coher- 
ence between  its  parts,  making  it  appear  as  though 
it  could  not  be  otherwise  than  it  is.  All  the  details 
of  the  picture  are  mutually  conditioned  as  stimuli 
so  as  to  produce  in  our  minds  a  unified  whole."  ^ 

§  5.  Unity  Between  the  Form  of  Expression 
AND  THE  Meaning 

That  which  is  most  frequently  neglected,  is  the 
third  factor — the  unity  between  the  form  of  ex- 
pression and  the  meaning  expressed.  In  literature 
rhythm  and  sound  should,  through  their  emo- 
tional value,  be  related  to  the  ideas  for  which  the 
sentence  stands.  Even  the  length  of  paragraphs 
and  the  division  into  chapters  or  acts  bears  a  de- 
cided relation  to  the  contents,  and  influence  the 
quality  of  the  total  aesthetic  impression. 

The  close  relation  between  the  form  and  the  con- 
tent in  music,  in  instances  where  a  content  has  been 
considered  by  the  composer,  is  obvious  to  persons 
with  even  a  superficial  knowedge  of  that  art.  It  is 
through  the  emotional  effect  of  the  sounds  that 
the  ideas  are  conveyed,  such  as  the  voices  of  the 
forest,  the  boom  of  the  sea,  or  the  emotions  of  love, 
anger,  etc.  There  are  those  who  believe  that  mu- 
sic should  be  an  art  of  pure  form,  and  this  even 
though  they  are  not  members  of  that  radical  group 

^  Problems  of  Form  in  Painting  and  Architecture,  translated  by  Max 
Meyer  and  R.  M.  Ogden,  p.  52. 


174  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

of  persons  who  desire  the  principle  of  "art  for  art's 
sake"  to  be  applied  to  all  art.  One  must  balance 
the  gain  with  the  loss.  Purely  *'  formal "  music  may 
more  completely  delight,  but  the  joy  of  the  per- 
ception of  the  higher  unity  of  form  and  expression, 
and  with  it  that  closer  touch  with  life,  will  be  ab- 
sent. An  example  of  this  unity  is  to  be  found  in 
song,  where  the  words  should  be  chosen  not  only 
for  their  meaning  but  for  their  melodic  and  rhyth- 
mic qualities  as  well.  How  important  this  is,  may 
be  seen  from  the  loss  in  aesthetic  effect  which  often 
occurs  in  the  translation  of  songs  from  one  lan- 
guage into  another.  It  is  almost  impossible,  even 
for  the  best  translator,  to  obtain  the  high  degree 
of  unity  of  the  original.  However,  music  for  the 
most  part  is  dependent  upon  its  formal  elements 
for  its  effect.  The  formal  unity  is  the  more  impor- 
tant, and  has  been  brought  to  greater  perfection 
in  music  than  in  any  of  the  other  forms  of  beauty. 
Architecture  is  very  closely  related  to  music  in 
this  respect,  while  painting  and  sculpture  are  more 
akin  to  literature. 

Probably  in  no  art  is  the  unity  of  content  and 
form  closer  than  in  painting.  We  have  evidence 
from  the  artist  himself  that  he  consciously  strives 
for  this  result.  According  to  Kenyon  Cox,  "As 
soon  as  any  attempt  is  made  to  represent  the  color 
of  objects  there  is  a  scheme  of  coloring  which  is 
either  harmonious  or  inharmonious,  appropriate 
or  inappropriate.  .  .  .  We  have  seen  .  .  .  that 
the  aim  of  painting   is  seldom   exact   imitation 


UNITY  OF  EXPRESSION  AND  MEANING    175 

and  that  all  the  higher  qualities  of  imitative  art 
are  dependent  upon  selection,  emphasis,  and  sup- 
pression, that  the  chosen  characters  of  things  may 
be  more  instantaneously  and  more  powerfully  ap- 
prehended than  they  could  be  in  the  presence  of 
the  things  themselves.  These  selections,  exaggera- 
tions, and  suppressions  are  made  upon  the  prin- 
ciple of  relational  art.  The  actual  shapes  and 
colors  of  objects  are  modified  to  take  advantage  of 
the  inherent  characters  of  lines  and  colors.  A  line 
is  straightened  here  because  straight  lines  express 
strength  and  rigidity,  or  more  curved  there  be- 
cause curved  lines  suggest  grace  and  movement. 
Colors  are  intensified  to  express  passion  or  clarified 
to  give  lightness  and  gayety."  ^ 

The  power  of  the  emotional  effects  of  lines 
was  shown  in.  describing  empathy.  It  was  also 
intimated  that  this  effect  should  harmonize  with 
the  subject-matter  of  the  pictures.  The  value  of 
this  blending  is  especially  clear  in  the  two  por- 
traits of  young  women  (Figs.  27  and  28).  It  was 
not  mere  whim  or  a  chance  coiffure  of  the  model 
that  caused  the  artists  to  adopt  the  wavy  lines  for 
the  headdress  of  the  one  woman,  and  the  straight 
lines  for  that  of  the  other,  but  the  fact  that  in 
themselves  they  expressed  the  dominant  mood 
which  they  desired,  and  which  they  considered  in 
every  detail  of  the  picture. 

The  greatest  of  modern  portraitists  have  de- 
veloped to  a  high  degree  this  unity  of  the  formal 

1  Concerning  Painting,  pp.  57-68. 


176  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

effect  with  the  mental  characteristics  of  the  subject, 
and  they  have  thus  made  their  portraits  Hve,  as 
they  could  have  done  in  no  other  way.  The  most 
careful  representation  of  spatial  values  and  the 
most  faithful  portrayal  of  objects  would  not  have 
put  so  much  soul  into  Sargent's  portraits  as  he  has 
obtained  by  his  marvelous  selection  of  proportion 
and  the  right  balance  of  color  and  shade.  Other 
examples  of  this  unity  are  to  be  found  in  the  works 
of  the  Swedish  painter  Bjork  who,  by  skilful  use 
of  line  and  color,  has  disclosed  with  subtlety  the 
inner  character  of  his  models.  A  rather  unintelli- 
gent, delicate,  and  kindly  young  Princess  is  shown 
in  light  blues  with  a  background  of  fragile  Louis 
XVI  furniture.  A  parvenu  and  his  wife  wear  rich 
brown  furs,  a  red  Turkish  rug  lies  on  the  floor  and 
a  heavy  baroque  wardrobe  forms  an  important 
part  of  the  setting.  In  another  picture  a  tempera- 
mental and  highly  intellectual  young  Jewess,  in  red 
dress  draped  in  restless  folds,  is  recumbent  upon  a 
sofa.  Such  are  some  of  the  more  obvious  factors 
which  have  been  employed  for  their  psychological 
effect.  Too  much  attention  cannot  be  given  to 
these  details,  where  unity  is  concerned.  Even  the 
design  and  color  of  the  frame  should  be  chosen,  not 
only  to  blend  with  the  lines  and  color  of  the  picture, 
but  also  with  the  theme,  so  far  as  this  is  possible. 

In  statuary  and  decorative  art,  the  position  from 
which  the  object  is  to  be  viewed  must  be  considered, 
especially  if  complete  unity  is  to  be  obtained.  Stat- 
uary should  be  so  planned  that  a  unified  effect. 


UNITY  OF  EXPRESSION  AND  MEANING    177 

both  as  regards  lines  and  subject-matter,  can  be 
obtained  without  the  necessity  of  walking  around 
the  group.  There  should  be  the  possibility  of  ob- 
taining such  a  unified  perception  from  at  least  one 
point  of  view.  That  is,  lines  and  figures  essential  to 
the  total  effect  should  not,  as  it  were,  extend  around 
the  corner.  ^  If  a  statue  is  placed  in  the  center  of  a 
square,  then  each  of  the  four  sides  should  be  a  com- 
plete composition.  This  is  practically  impossible, 
and  in  consequence  Professor  Hildebrand,  who  has 
insisted  that  there  should  be  a  dominant  point  of 
view,  condemns  the  placing  of  a  statue  in  a  position 
where  *'  all  aspects  of  it  are  given  equal  value.  .  .  . 
As  the  spectator  circles  about  the  statue  he  has  at 
least  four  views  to  take  in,  and  this  can  be  to  the 
advantage  of  only  a  very  few  works  and  of  pleas- 
ure, in  general,  only  with  figures  in  the  nude.  *'  ^ 

In  large  vases  there  is  the  same  consideration. 
The  Greeks,  who  understood  this  principle,  ar- 
ranged the  running  designs  for  the  most  part  so 
that  a  complete  picture  could  be  perceived  without 
moving  the  head.  In  smaller  vases  and  other  or- 
naments, this  is  not  of  so  much  importance,  since 
the  object  can  be  turned  around  rapidly  in  the  hand. 
Even  here,  however,  reservations  must  be  made, 
as  for  instance,  in  regard  to  the  decoration  on  the 
covers  of  books.  Although  a  book  is  a  small  ob- 
ject, nevertheless  one  desires  a  unified  effect  as  it 

^See   Hildebrand,   Problems  of  Form,   etc.,   p.   94,   and   for  examples, 
Cornelius,  Elementargesetze  der  Bildenden  Kunst,  pp.  26  et  seq. 
*  Idem.,  p.  117. 


178  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

lies  closed  upon  the  table.  Therefore  the  design 
should  be  complete  on  the  one  side,  for  otherwise 
the  book  would  have  to  be  placed  open  and  face 
down,  which  no  book-lover  would  allow.  ^ 

In  addition  to  the  unity  of  the  spatial  factors 
and  of  the  ideas  which  are  expressed  in  sculpture 
and  the  other  tri-dimensional  arts,  there  is  the 
equally  important  unity  of  the  material  in  which 
the  work  is  executed  and  the  subject  represented. 
On  seeing,  say,  a  Rodin  figure  in  bronze  one  is  apt 
to  forget  that  the  dark  surface  and  enduring  qual- 
ity of  the  metal  are  not  there  by  accident  but  have 
been  selected  in  order  best  to  express  the  subject 
portrayed,  until,  perchance,  one  compares  it  with 
the  very  different  but  harmonious  effect  of  a  slim 
Gothic  princess  in  delicate  green  stone  and  white 
ivory,  or  is  confronted  with  the  less  pleasing  result 
of  a  similar  figure  in  white  marble. 

§  6.   Pleasure   in  the  Successful  Effort  to 

Unify 

That  the  mind  seeks  unity  is  a  fact,  and  that  the 
object  should  lend  itself  readily  to  unification  is 
equally  true,  but  the  arrangement  should  not  be 
such  that  the  unity  is  thrust  upon  the  mind.  To- 
gether with  pleasure  in  the  unity  there  is  a  pleasure 
in  its  attainment.  Successful  effort  is  pleasant, 
but,  just  as  the  joke  which  is  fully  explained  loses 
its  effect,  so  in  general  the  too-obvious  is  distasteful 

^  Professor  Cornelius  gives  illustrations  of  a  book  design  which  observes 
this  principle  and  of  others  which  violate  it.    Op.  cit.,  pp.  41-43. 


SUCCESSFUL  EFFORT  TO  UNIFY       179 

if  not  obnoxious.  The  mind  always  seeks  new 
worlds  to  unify.  As  soon  as  it  has  learned  readily 
to  harmonize  two  objects,  it  desires  to  include  a 
third.  To  state  the  law  as  a  desire  for  unity  in 
multiplicity  is  therefore  not  suflacient.  The  unity 
should  not  be  too  easily  won;  and  so,  since  practice 
brings  facility,  it  often  happens  that  what  pleases 
one  to-day  will  be  uninteresting  to-morrow.  The 
history  of  the  development  of  art  clearly  shows 
this.  If  a  musical  composition  is  so  simple  that  we 
can  instantly  grasp  it  without  effort,  it  seems  to 
lack  that  deep  pleasure  which  we  desire.  In  some 
of  our  moods  it  may  be  pleasant  and  very  harmoni- 
ous, but  beneath  it  all  is  the  longing  for  something 
else.  Repose,  though  it  may  be  sought,  is  never 
long  enjoyed  when  once  attained.  This  may  seem 
to  some  extent  at  variance  with  experience,  for 
the  mind  does  avoid  difficulties,  yet  it  does  this 
when  it  is  fatigued  or  when  it  is  being  urged  to  a 
greater  activity  than  it  is  capable  of  attaining. 
There  is  no  intellect  that  does  not  desire  to  create 
continually,  and  the  pleasure  in  the  perception  of 
a  new  or  unaccustomed  form  of  imity  is  comparable 
to  that  of  original  achievement. 

A  critic,  in  comparing  a  certain  symphony  by 
Tschaikowsky  with  one  by  Beethoven,  has  said 
that  in  the  former  the  construction  seems  obvious 
after  one  has  listened  to  the  work  of  Beethoven  in 
which  one  continues  to  find  unfamiliar  and  unex- 
pected intricacies  which  have  to  be  clarified  and  xm- 
derstood.    The  result  is  that  one  anticipates  a  new 


180  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

joy  in  Beethoven  and  the  renewal  of  an  old  pleas- 
ure in  Tschaikowsky.  A  sharp  contrast  is  to  be 
had  by  comparing  music  of  the  time  of  Mozart  with 
modern  music  of  the  style  of  Strauss.  To  be  sure, 
many  listen  to  Mozart  with  pleasure,  and  return 
to  him  as  to  a  favorite  book,  but  just  as  we  desire 
new  books  and  plots  with  which  we  are  unfamiliar, 
so  we  seek  new  resolutions  in  music. 

This  act  of  the  heed  of  a  certain  difficulty  in 
unifying,  has  been  of  the  utmost  importance  in 
determining  the  trend  in  the  development  of 
music.^  This  has  perhaps  been  truer  of  music 
than  of  any  other  art,  although  its  effect  is  ob- 
served wherever  beauty  is  sought.  In  everything 
there  is  a  limit :  just  as  the  unity  can  be  too  simple 
to  be  enduringly  satisfactory,  so  it  can  be  too  com- 
plex to  be  understood  at  certain  stages  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  individual  or  the  race.  It  may 
be  not  only  unsatisfactory,  but  even  decidedly 
unpleasant.  There  is  here  a  balance  to  be  con- 
sidered, as  was  the  case  in  the  amount  of  the  per- 
sonal appeal  in  the  aesthetic  attitude,  but  in  this 
instance,  it  is  a  balance  between  simplicity  and 
complexity  in  the  act  of  unifying.  No  specific 
rule  can  be  formulated  regarding  the  exact  balance 
to  be  maintained,  for  it  is  of  necessity  continually 
changing.     It  must  be  determined  at  any  given 

^  See  the  description  of  experiments  made  by  Professor  Henry  T.  Moore 
to  detennine  the  cause  of  the  changes  in  the  aesthetic  perception  of  musical 
intervals  in  "  The  Genetic  Aspect  of  Consonance  and  Dissonance,"  Psycho- 
logical Monographs,  No.  73;  also  his  book  The  Sense  of  Pain  and  Pleasure, 
Chapter  VIII. 


SUCCESSFUL  EFFORT  TO  UNIFY       181 

time  according  to  the  existing  conditions.  That 
it  differs  in  individuals  is  one  of  the  reasons  for  the 
non-conformity  of  taste.  One  organism  has  just 
sufficient  adaptation  to  music  to  Hke  ragtime. 
Another  enjoys  classical  music  almost  from  in- 
fancy, and  seeks  something  beyond  any  existing 
form.  Experience  may  be  depended  upon  to  shift 
the  balance  ever  toward  the  complex,  though  this 
movement  may  be  almost  imperceptible  in  the 
aesthetically  obtuse.  Education  in  art  points  out 
the  various  factors  that  should  be  united  and  the 
nature  of  their  harmony,  and  thus  hastens  an 
otherwise  spontaneous  but  slower  change. 

Most  frequently  we  are  not  aware  that  we  are 
unifying,  for  we  do  not,  as  a  rule,  stop  to  analyze 
our  perceptions;  yet  it  is  the  unification  that  gives 
us  pleasure,  and  it  is  this  pleasure  which  has  the 
important  position  in  attention.  It  is  when  con- 
ditions make  this  unification  difficult  that  we  are 
most  apt  to  consider  what  is  taking  place  within 
us.  It  has  previously  been  explained  that  we  are 
usually  unaware  of  our  own  activity  in  the  em- 
pathic  response;  and  in  fact  a  great  part  of  our 
mental  life  is  unconscious.  There  are  cases  of 
unity  which  go  on  entirely  unconsciously  and  which 
many  observers  might  never  understand  if  they 
were  not  explained,  such  as  the  blending  of  small 
patches  of  color  that  are  in  juxtaposition.  A  color 
produced  by  such  blending  seems  to  be  more  lu- 
minous than  one  produced  by  the  direct  mixtures 
of  paint.    This  method  is  used  by  the  Pointillists, . 


182  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

of  whom  Monet  is  the  best  example,  in  order  to  get 
their  sunlight  effects.  Many  persons  will  have  ob- 
served the  small  colored  dots  on  closer  inspection  of 
the  painting,  without  having  given  much  thought 
to  the  purpose  of  the  method,  or  the  cause  of  the 
results  obtained;  but  when  one  understands  that 
the  apparently  monochromatic  surface  is  produced 
through  the  physiological  blending  of  colors,  and 
that  there  is  thus  a  unity  that  one  had  not  before 
suspected,  there  is  an  added  pleasure  in  the  sun- 
light effects. 

In  the  formal  unity  there  is  merely  the  activ- 
ity of  arranging  the  various  parts  according  to  a 
plan:  and  this  is  all  that  needs  explanation  in  re- 
gard to  much  of  music  and  to  all  the  purely  deco- 
rative arts.  From  what  has  been  said  above,  it  is 
evident  that  a  simple  form  of  unity  is  found  where 
there  are  few  elements  to  be  combined,  where  the 
form  of  combination  is  clearly  indicated,  and  where 
the  unity  has  been  experienced  before.  The  unity 
becomes  more  diflScult  to  achieve  with  an  increase 
in  the  number  of  elements,  with  a  decrease  in  the 
amount  of  assistance  to  unification,  and  with  a 
decrease  in  the  familiarity  of  the  combination. 

§  7.  The  Appeal  to  the  Imagination 

In  the  unity  of  content,  the  factor  of  imagination 
complicates  the  situation,  for  here  the  pleasure  is 
influenced  by  the  amount  of  appeal  to  the  imagin- 
ative processes.  In  every  perception,  even  the 
most  formal,  there  is  some  demand  upon  the  imag- 


THE  APPEAL  TO  THE  IMAGINATION    183 

ination,  but  in  formal  art  this  demand  is  less  than 
in  representative  art.  In  a  sense  we  can  call  this 
arousal  of  the  imagination  an  appeal  to  our  intel- 
lectual activity,  so  that  again  our  pleasure  is  rela- 
tive to  the  degree  of  activity. 

The  more  fully  the  object  is  described,  that  is 
the  more  complete  the  imitation,  the  less  is  the 
demand  upon  the  activity  of  the  imagination,  and 

Fig.  34 
A  drawing  in  The  Christian  Science  Monitor  by  Frank  Bishell 

the  more  sketchy  the  representation,  the  more 
must  be  supplied  by  the  mind.  This  is  readily  seen 
in  that  form  of  sketching  in  which  a  few  sugges- 
tive lines  represent  a  human  figure.  The  small 
number  of  lines  demands  a  greater  activity  on  the 
part  of  the  imagination,  and  for  some  persons  such 
a  method  affords  more  pleasure  than  if  the  entire 
outline  were  given.  Individuals,  however,  differ 
even  more  in  regard  to  their  imaginative  response 


184  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

than  in  their  ability  to  unify  discrete  elements. 
Those  who  belong  to  the  literal  type  require  every- 
thing explained  most  fully.  For  them  each  step 
of  an  argument  must  be  given,  from  premise  to 
conclusion.  In  a  description  every  detail  must  be 
included  or  there  is  a  perplexity  which  is  almost 
painful,  while  for  others  the  same  argument  or 
description  would  be  too  obvious  and  therefore 
equally  distressing. 

There  has  always  been  a  conflict  between  real- 
istic and  imaginative  art,  and  each  has  had  its  fol- 
lowers. Indeed,  a  person's  preference  varies  with 
his  mood,  and  his  change  of  mood  is  frequently 
conditioned  by  a  surfeit  of  one  or  the  other  form 
of  representation.  In  the  matter  of  stage-setting 
realism  leaves  very  little  to  the  imagination.  One 
recalls  Mr.  Belasco's  meticulous  attention  to  de- 
tails. If  a  parlor  of  the  "Early  Grant*'  period  is  to 
be  represented,  the  family  albums,  shells,  peacocks' 
tails,  daguerreotypes,  must  all  be  there;  the  clock 
must  not  only  be  at  the  proper  hour,  but  must  run 
according  to  the  lapse  of  time  on  the  stage;  the 
calendar  must  be  on  the  wall  and  turned  to  the 
proper  date;  in  short,  no  chance  must  be  taken  that 
any  one  in  the  audience  will  miss  an  accustomed 
object.  The  pleasure  lies  in  the  fact  that  every- 
thing is  completely  represented,  and  where  that  is 
the  purpose  the  greatest  care  must  be  taken  to 
carry  out  the  scheme. 

Such  details,  however,  may  become  wearisome. 
The  mind  often  rebels  at  having  everything  pre- 


THE  APPEAL  TO  THE  IMAGINATION    185 

pared  for  it,  for  this  is  almost  like  an  insult  to  the 
intellect,  or  more  specifically,  to  the  imagination. 
It  may  then  be  a  relief  to  return  at  times  to  the 
Elizabethan  manner  of  stage-setting,  where  one  is 
stimulated  to  imagine  the  scenery  by  mere  signs, 
such  as  "This  is  a  wall."  Suggestion  of  scenic  ef- 
fect has  here  reached  its  minimum,  and  the  rich- 
ness of  the  scene  depends  entirely  upon  the  ob- 
server. Modem  scenic  artists,  who  have  reacted 
against  extreme  realism,  although  for  the  most 
part  they  have  not  returned  to  the  Elizabethan 
form,  have  presented  those  features  only  which  are 
essential  for  the  general  idea,  depending  upon  the 
audience  to  fill  in  the  gaps.  Instead  of  represent- 
ing a  hotel  lobby  with  the  accustomed  details, 
there  may  be  merely  a  back  drop  representing  the 
windows  of  a  dining  room,  with  drawn  shades,  and 
a  couple  of  benches  in  front  of  the  windows.  The 
lights  and  sounds  of  voices  convey  the  idea  of 
many  guests  in  the  dining  room.  The  spaces  on 
either  side  of  the  drop  indicate  that  there  are  cor- 
ridors and  from  the  context  of  the  plot  one  soon 
imagines  numerous  rooms  leading  off  from  them. 
There  is  no  one  without  some  degree  of  imagina- 
tion, but  some  have  so  little  that  such  a  scene  will 
appear  barren  and  stupid.  To  the  highly  imagina- 
tive, however,  it  will  be  richer  in  effect  than  the 
more  realistic  scene  in  which  the  very  details  im- 
pede the  imagination  of  the  observer. 

It  is,  however,  not  true  that  those  who  enjoy 
realism  are  always  without  imagination,  for  some 


186  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

desire  realism  because  they  seek  in  art  a  close  imi- 
tation of  nature,  thus  confusing  a  truthful  repre- 
sentation with  a  beautiful  one.  The  stage  setting 
just  described  will  be  displeasing  to  them  because 
it  is  not  an  exact  representation  of  what  they  have 
been  accustomed  to  think  of  as  a  hotel  lobby,  and 
not  because  they  cannot  imagine  such  a  lobby  if 
they  will.  Nevertheless,  there  will  probably  be 
found  a  close  correspondence  between  the  rela- 
tively non-imaginative  and  those  who  insist  on 
realistic  art. 

§  8.  Degrees  of  Appeal  to  the  Imagination 

A  survey  of  the  forms  and  degrees  of  activity  men- 
tioned above  may  very  well  be  made  by  describing 
three  different  styles  of  pictures.  Let  us  suppose 
that  the  first  is  a  realistic  representation  of  still 
life:  a  simple  group  of  pears,  an  apple,  orange,  and 
banana.  The  formal  unity  will  be  easily  grasped, 
but  the  content  is  meager  and  there  is  for  that  rea- 
son little  left  for  the  imagination.  The  picture  is 
pleasingly  decorative  perhaps,  but  we  do  not  study 
it  long.  It  is  true  that  the  imagination  may  wander 
into  Italy  and  enjoy  that  climate,  but  then  we  have 
left  the  picture.  Music  strongly  stimulates  the 
imagination  in  just  this  way.  In  listening  to  a 
symphony,  our  mind  frequently  becomes  intensely 
active,  but,  alas,  how  often  has  the  attention  wan- 
dered from  the  music  to  some  irrelevant  topic. 

A  second  picture  is  also  one  of  still  life,  but  with 
many  objects  represented,  as  for  example  one  of 


THE  APPEAL  TO  THE  IMAGINATION    187 

Snyders',  where  a  butcher  shop  is  represented  with 
the  various  meats  in  gruesome  details.  The  com- 
position is  clever  and  intricate  and  there  is  greater 
opportunity  for  unifying  both  form  and  content 
than  in  the  former  picture,  but  there  is  still  little 
left  for  the  imagination.  In  fact,  there  is  much 
included  that  the  imagination  of  some,  if  left  un- 
guided,  would  not  have  cared  to  supply. 

A  third  picture  will  be  found  to  have  a  seemingly 
very  simple  arrangement  of  lines  and  masses,  and 
the  effect  will  depend  entirely  upon  how  success- 
fully these  few  details  are  able  to  suggest  the  in- 
tended scene.  If  we  look  closely  at  the  picture  by 
Whistler  of  the  Thames  at  night,  we  shall  see  only 
blotches  of  dark  gray  paint  of  different  intensity, 
which  do  not  seem  to  have  any  definite  form.  If 
we  retreat  about  four  feet  from  the  canvas,  we 
perceive  the  most  beautiful  nocturne.  As  if  by 
magic  we  see  before  us  the  bridge,  the  sweep  of  the 
river,  the  reflection  of  light  upon  the  water,  and 
the  small  boats  with  points  of  light  at  the  portholes. 
Every  object  is  most  easily  recognized,  and  the 
total  effect  is  one  of  great  beauty,  for  the  mystery 
of  the  night  is  portrayed  in  a  manner  which  few 
artists  have  been  able  to  attain.  How  much  has 
been  left  to  the  imagination  is  here  little  realized 
unless  we  have  closely  inspected  the  canvas,  so 
entirely  unconscious  are  we  of  our  active  partici- 
pation. 

Whistler  is  probably  one  of  the  best  examples  of 
an  artist  who  obtains  a  rich  content  with  a  mini- 


188  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

mum  of  visual  cues.  To  express  oneself  clearly  in  a 
few  words  is  much  more  difficult  than  by  the  use 
of  complex  sentences,  and  so  it  is  in  fine  arts,  in  fact 
in  every  art.  Whistler  has  been  able  almost  en- 
tirely by  the  subtle  gradation  of  grays  to  represent 
the  quality  of  depth  in  his  pictures  to  a  degree  that 
even  some  of  the  best  artists  have  been  able  to  ac- 
complish only  by  the  employment  of  every  known 
factor  of  experience,  such  as  perspective,  difference 
in  size,  color,  etc.  To  achieve  this  there  is  most 
delicate  differentiation  of  brightness  values  from 
point  to  point  in  space,  such  as  is  also  seen  in  the 
paintings  of  the  Japanese,  who  also  are  masters  of 
this  seeming  simplicity  in  form.  In  rendering 
shapes.  Whistler  also  gave  only  the  barest  indica- 
tion of  what  he  wanted  to  be  perceived  but  there  is 
just  sufficient  to  evoke  the  perceptions  of  bridges, 
boats,  and  water  most  vividly,  as  soon  as  one  is 
sufficiently  far  away  not  to  recognize  the  small, 
irregular  brush  strokes  of  dark  paint  for  what  they 
actually  are.  Only  a  genius  after  years  of  study  can 
obtain  such  simplicity  in  the  form  of  expression, 
yet  so  little  has  this  been  understood  at  times,  that 
Whistler  had  to  sue  one  of  his  patrons  for  the  price 
of  a  picture  because  the  patron  contended  that  to 
put  a  few  dabs  of  paint  upon  the  canvas  could  not 
have  taken  many  hours. 

No  less  skilful  is  the  poet  in  the  appeal  to  the 
imagination.  Could  a  hundred  lines  be  more  de- 
scriptive than  these  few  words: 


THE  APPEAL  TO  THE  IMAGINATION    189 

"Circumstance 
Upon  the  maple  leaves 
The  dew  shines  red. 
But  on  the  lotus  blossom 
It  has  the  pale  transparence  of  tears."  ^ 

Frequent  mention  has  been  made  of  cues  which 
the  artist  employs,  and  it  was  stated  that  these 
cues — lines,  shapes,  colors,  etc., — call  up  a  meaning 
somewhat  as  the  printed  word  does;  but  in  the 
search  for  simplicity  of  expression  it  should  not  be 
forgotten  that  such  cues  must  be  typical  and  more 
or  less  customary  ones  as  words  are,  or  they  will 
fail  to  stimulate  the  imagination  in  the  direction 
desired  by  the  artist.  They  cannot  be  cues  which 
happen  to  please  the  caprice  of  the  artist,  but 
rather  those  which  the  mind  is  accustomed  to  as- 
sociate with  the  object  intended,  through  long  prac- 
tice. A  child,  for  example,  when  it  commences 
to  draw,  will  probably  represent  a  box  merely  by  a 
rectangle;  but  it  will  soon  learn  to  sketch  the  box 
according  to  a  plan  that  is  easily  recognized  by 
others.  For  every  object,  there  are  developed 
forms  of  representation  that  portray  that  object 
in  distinctive  positions — that  is,  in  positions  which 
differentiate  it  from  other  objects,  and  these  forms 
become  the  signs  or  cues  for  the  object.  A  circle, 
for  instance,  is  a  shape  that  belongs  to  hundreds 
of  objects;  without  shading  or  detail,  it  would  rep- 
resent a  dollar,  the  moon,  the  earth,  etc.  Out  of 
the  countless  possibilities,  therefore,  what  chance 

^  From  Amy  Lowell,  Pictures  of  the  Floating  World,  p.  4. 


190  UNITY  AND  IMAGINATION 

is  there  that  it  would  suggest  an  egg  to  any  one, 
yet  it  is  the  outline  of  an  egg  as  seen  with  the  end 
toward  the  observer.  An  ovoid,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  the  shape  of  fewer  objects,  and  is  therefore 
adopted  as  the  normal  aspect  of  the  egg,  and  is 
used  to  represent  it.  This  is  a  very  evident  example 
to  illustrate  that  the  artist,  when  he  is  engaged 
in  simplifying  his  forms  or  developing  new  ones, 
must  always  keep  in  mind  the  necessity  of  com- 
municating his  meaning  to  others  in  an  unequiv- 
ocal manner. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ILLUSTRATIONS   OF   UNITY   FROM   THE 
FINE  ARTS 

§  1.  Direction  of  the  Attention  Suggested 
BY  THE  Lines 

The  manner  in  which  the  artist  arranges  his  com- 
position in  order  to  produce  a  unified  perception 
will  be  described  by  illustrations  from  the  fine  arts. 
It  will  also  be  shown  how  the  empathic  responses 
to  the  picture  are  coordinated  about  the  central 
theme  so  that  after  the  different  parts  have  come 
clearly  to  the  attention,  the  total  picture  is  im- 
mediately and  clearly  perceived. 

A  very  serious  problem  that  the  Italian  painters 
had  to  meet  regarding  unity  was  that  of  joining 
the  terrestrial  with  the  celestial  events.  Some  ar- 
tists were  not  at  all  able  to  solve  it,  with  the  result 
that  one  actually  had  two  pictures.  In  most  of  the 
paintings,  however,  we  see  some  attempt.  The 
crudest  method  was  to  have  parts  of  the  two 
worlds  interlaced  or  dovetailed.  This  was  almost 
always  accompanied  by  some  suggestive  lines  or 
cues  for  directing  the  gaze.  The  guiding  of  the 
attention  is  the  more  subtle  form,  and  is  more 
highly  developed  in  the  later  paintings.  Such  a 
unity  has  a  more  spiritual  effect  than  that  produced 
by  the  overlapping  or  juxtaposition  of  lines. 


192  UNITY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

In  the  picture  of  the  Coronation  by  a  follower 
of  Giotto  in  the  Church  of  Sta.  Croce,  in  Florence 
(Fig.  35),  the  artist  avoided  the  problem  by  repre- 
senting the  heavenly  scene  only — Christ,  the  Virgin, 
and  four  Angels.  An  example  of  the  cruder  form  of 
the  unity  of  the  two  worlds  is  found  in  Botticelli's 
Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  in  the  Academy  in  Flor- 
ence (Fig.  36).  The  Angels  floating  in  the  heavens, 
almost  touch  the  heads  of  the  Saints.  The  hands 
of  the  Saints  at  either  side  of  the  picture  point 
to  the  heavenly  scene,  and  give  direction  to  the 
attention,  but  the  figures  are  not  well  coordi- 
nated and  we  do  not  feel  strongly  impelled  by 
the  gaze  of  the  Saints  to  look  heavenward.  Ra- 
phaeFs  Coronation  in  the  Vatican  Gallery  in  Rome 
(Fig.  37),  portrays  heaven  and  earth  completely  di- 
vided by  a  horizontal  strip  of  sky,  but  the  gaze  of 
the  Saints  is  so  compelling  that  we  have  much  less 
difficulty  in  unifying  the  picture  than  in  the  Bot- 
ticelli. Later  in  the  Madonna  Foligno  of  the  same 
gallery  (Fig.  38),  Raphael  breaks  the  line  between 
the  two  worlds  by  placing  the  lower  part  of  the 
figure  of  the  Madonna  in  the  space  between  the 
Saints.  The  hands  of  the  figures  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  picture  are  so  well  arranged  that  wherever 
we  glance  the  eye  is  guided  to  the  Madonna.  On 
the  left  we  follow  the  arms  extended  toward  the 
observer  to  the  arm  of  St.  John  and  then  to  the 
Virgin;  or  if  our  eyes  fall  first  on  the  right,  they 
turn  directly  to  the  Virgin  as  indicated  by  the 
folded  hands,  or  first  to  the  Angel  as  directed  by  the 


Fig.  35. — Coronation,  by  a  fol- 
lower of  Giotto,  Sta.  Croce,  Flor- 
ence. 


Fro.  36. — Coronation,  by  Botticelli, 
Academy,  Rome. 


Fig.  37. — Coronation,  by  Raphael, 
Vatican  Gallerj'-,  Rome. 


Fig.  38. — Madonna  of  Foligno,  by 
Raphael,  Vatican  Gallery,  Rome. 


Fig.  39.— Disputa,  by  Raphael,  Vatican,  Rome. 


Fig.  40.— St.  Petronilla,  by  Guercino, 
Palazzo  dei  Conservatori,  Rome. 


ATTENTION  DIRECTED  BY  THE  LINES    193 

extended  hand,  and  then  with  the  Angel's  gaze  to 
the  central  figure.  The  direction  of  the  eyes  of  the 
Saints  and  Angels  is  so  well  calculated  to  blend  with 
the  lines  of  the  figures,  especially  with  those  of  the 
arms,  that  the  picture  presents  the  most  closely 
knit  unity.  Even  if  we  glance  first  at  the  Virgin 
and  Child,  we  shall  be  compelled  to  unite  the  two 
parts  of  the  picture  either  by  following  the  gaze  of 
the  Virgin  down  to  the  Saint,  or  that  of  the  Child 
to  the  Angel.  In  the  Disputa  in  the  Vatican  in 
Rome  (Fig.  39),  Raphael  has  painted  a  strip  of  sky 
which  divides  the  two  parts  of  the  picture,  but  the 
clouds  are  curved  toward  the  earth,  which  greatly 
aids  the  downward  empathy  if  we  gaze  first  at  the 
upper  part  of  the  picture.  In  the  lower  part  the 
figures  are  very  cleverly  arranged  to  guide  the 
attention.  In  the  center  an  arm  conspicuously 
points  to  Christ  in  the  clouds,  and  from  both  the 
right  and  left  sides  of  the  picture  we  are  guided  to 
the  central  point  from  figure  to  figure  by  extended 
arms  and  carefully  grouped  heads.  The  numer- 
ous figures  in  the  clouds  by  similar  arrangement 
complete  the  unity.  In  Titian's  Assumption  the 
strong  empathic  impulses  upward  most  effec- 
tively unite  the  various  parts  of  the  picture. 
Guercino,  a  minor  painter,  has  failed  to  realize 
the  importance  of  the  direction  of  line,  in  his  St. 
Petronilla  in  the  Palazzo  dei  Conservatori  in 
Rome  (Fig.  40).  The  figures  engaged  in  the 
burial  scene  are  all  looking  toward  the  bottom  of 
the  picture;  the  lines  of  the  heavenly  scene  bind 


194  UNITY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

that  part  of  the  composition  into  a  separate  unit; 
consequently  the  observer  must  always  make  two 
distinct  and  unconnected  adjustments  in  order  to 
understand  the  picture. 

In  the  pictures  of  the  Madonna  Enthroned  a 
conventionalized  scheme  of  unity  has  been  em- 
ployed. The  Madonna  is  placed  in  the  center  of 
the  picture  with  an  equal  number  of  Saints  on 
either  side.  These  figures  direct  the  eye  by  ges- 
tures and  gaze  to  the  center  of  the  picture,  but  some 
artists  are  cleverer  than  others  in  making  use 
of  these  factors.  Ghirlandaio,  in  his  pictures  in 
the  Uffizi  (Fig.  41)  and  the  Academy  in  Florence 
(Fig.  42),  has  placed  two  of  the  kneeling  figures  con- 
spicuously in  the  foreground  as  a  guide,  but  he  has 
caused  confusion  by  arranging  the  other  figures  at 
different  degrees  of  depth  toward  the  rear.  Most 
of  the  artists  have  avoided  thus  placing  the  figures. 
Some  have  bound  the  figures  still  closer  together 
by  the  arrangement  of  the  architectural  back- 
ground. For  example,  in  the  picture  by  a  pupil 
of  Botticelli  in  the  Uffizi  (Fig.  43)  the  figures  are 
crowded  into  a  sort  of  square  alcove,  formed  by  a 
high  wall.  In  the  picture  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli 
in  the  Academy  in  Florence  (Fig.  44)  each  of  his 
four  Saints  and  the  Madonna  have  panels  behind 
them  which  themselves  are  strongly  bound  archi- 
tecturally to  one  another,  while  in  Botticelli's  pic- 
ture in  the  Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum  in  Berlin 
(Fig.  45)  the  plants  or  hedge  at  the  back  form  three 
arches,  one  around  each  Saint  and  one  around  the 


Fig.  41. — Madonna  and  Saints,  by  Ghirlandaio,  UflSzi 
Gallery,  Florence. 


Fig.  42. — Madonna  and  Saints,  by  Ghirlandaio,  Academy, 
Florence. 


Fig.  43.— Madonna  and  Saints,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli,  Uffizi, 
Florence. 


Fig.  44.— Madonna  and  Saints,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli, 
Academy,  Florence. 


ATTENTION  DIRECTED  BY  THE  LINES    195 

Virgin  and  Child.  In  Filippino  Lippi's  picture  in 
the  UflBzi  (Fig.  46),  not  alone  are  the  figures  placed 
in  a  small  chapel,  but  Angels  point  to  the  Madonna 
and  thus  prevent  the  gaze  from  wandering  away 
from  the  center  to  the  ceiling.  In  Raphael's  Ma- 
donna of  the  Baldacchino  in  the  Pitti  (Fig.  47),  the 
same  motive  has  been  used.  The  two  pillars  to  the 
extreme  right  and  left  guide  the  attention  to  the 
roof.  Before  our  eyes  reach  it,  they  meet  the  Angels 
who  hover  over  the  scene  and  point  to  the  Virgin. 
The  two  Saints,  pillars.  Angels,  and  canopy  form  a 
square  which  completely  confines  the  gaze.  The 
attitude  of  the  Saints  at  the  sides  of  the  picture 
is  typical  of  such  a  group.  One  Saint  is  turned 
toward  the  observer,  inviting  his  gaze  and  direct- 
ing it  toward  the  center  by  a  gesture;  the  other  is 
himself  looking  toward  the  center,  and  we  follow 
his  gaze  rather  than  his  hand. 

§  %.  Centering  of  Interest  Through  Objects 
Placed  in  the  Foreground 

Beside  the  above  means  of  centering  the  interest, 
artists  have  frequently  placed  objects  in  the  center 
of  the  lower  part  of  the  picture  to  attract  attention 
to  the  middle  of  the  composition,  such  as  a  small 
picture  and  urn  at  the  foot  of  the  throne  in  the 
Berlin  Botticelli  (Fig.  45),  a  vase  of  flowers  on  the 
rug  covering  the  steps  of  the  throne  in  the  Ghir- 
landaio  of  the  UfBzi  (Fig.  41),  a  book  placed  with 
seeming  carelessness  at  the  point  of  interest  in  the 
Filippino  Lippi  (Fig.  46) .    Often  one  or  more  cher- 


196  UNITY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

ubs  stand  in  the  foreground  at  the  foot  of  the  throne 
or  are  seated  on  the  steps,  as  in  the  Raphael  picture 
in  the  Pitti,  or  are  at  the  extreme  bottom  of  the  pic- 
ture as  in  his  Sistine  Madonna  in  Dresden. 

This  method  of  directing  attention  is  not  dis- 
tinctive of  the  groups  of  Madonna  and  Saints,  but 
is  frequently  found  in  other  compositions.  In  a 
picture  by  Paris  Bordone  of  the  Fisherman  and  the 
Doge  in  the  Academy  in  Venice  (Fig.  48),  the  boy 
in  the  foreground  is  leaning  toward  the  priest  and 
the  attention  is  guided  from  him  to  the  priest  and 
then  in  a  direct  line  to  the  fisherman  and  the  Doge. 
In  Titian's  Visitation  in  the  same  gallery  the  old 
woman  on  the  steps  serves  the  same  function  as  the 
boy  in  Bordone's  picture.  In  all  pictures  where 
there  are  a  great  many  figures,  there  would  be 
much  difiiculty  in  perceiving  the  main  features  of 
the  composition  if  it  were  not  for  such  guiding  ob- 
jects. 

§  3.  Binding  Effect  of  Architectural  Back- 
grounds 

In  the  pictures  previously  described,  mention 
was  made  of  the  binding  effect  of  the  architecture. 
In  many  pictures  it  is  very  obvious  that  the  arches, 
pillars,  and  walls  serve  a  purpose  beyond  that  of  a 
background  for  the  main  group.  In  the  Annun- 
ciation by  Andrea  del  Sarto,  in  the  Pitti  (Fig.  49), 
the  arch  of  the  building  has  not  been  thus  placed 
by  chance  or  even  to  balance  the  picture,  but  to 
connect  the  Angel  with  the  Virgin.     In  the  por- 


Fig. 


45. — Madonna  and   Saints,  by   Botticelli, 
Kaiser  Friedrich  Museum,  Berlin. 


Fig.  46. — Madonna  and  Saints, 
by  Filippino  Lippi,  UlSzi,  Flor- 
ence. 


Fig.    47. — Madonna   of    the    Baldacchino, 
Pitti  Gallcrj-,  Florence. 


Fig.    48. — Fisherman    and   the   Doge,   by 
Paris  Bordone,  Academy,  Venice. 


Fig.    50.— Visitation,    by    Al- 
bertinelli,  Uffizi,  Florence. 


Fig.    49. — Annunciation,   by    Andrea    del 
Sarto,  Pitti  Gallery,  Florence. 


Fio.  51. — Communion  of  St. 
Jerome,  by  Domenichino,  Vat- 
ican, Rome. 


ARCHITECTURAL  BACKGROUNDS      197 

trayal  of  this  subject,  we  have  a  perpendicular 
division  of  the  picture  in  two  halves,  which  has 
troubled  artists  as  much  as  the  horizontal  division 
between  heaven  and  earth.  Some  have  overcome 
the  diflSculty  by  having  a  scroll  of  words  issuing 
from  the  Angel's  mouth  toward  the  Virgin,  or  by 
introducing  the  dove  as  a  connecting  link.  Del 
Sarto  was  evidently  weary  of  this  symbolism  and 
therefore  painted  in  the  background  so  that  the 
eye  is  guided  from  the  hand  of  the  Angel  to  the 
pillar  and  around  the  curve  of  the  arch  to  the  Vir- 
gin. Although  it  is  made  evident  by  the  size  of 
the  figure  of  the  man  on  the  steps  that  the  building 
is  not  in  the  same  plane  with  the  Angel  and  Vir- 
gin, still  the  lines  of  pillar  and  arch  very  success- 
fully unify  the  two  halves  of  the  picture.  In  Al- 
bertinelli's  Visitation  in  the  Uffizi  (Fig.  50),  there 
is  not  the  same  necessity  for  uniting  the  two  fig- 
ures, for  they  are  drawn  in  the  space  of  a  triangle, 
and  are  also  closely  united  by  their  embrace.  Nev- 
ertheless, the  same  method  of  pillar  and  arch  used 
by  del  Sarto  is  employed  here  to  complete  the 
union  of  the  figures,  and  provide  against  the  pos- 
sibility that  the  attention  will  wander  aimlessly 
among  the  clouds  at  the  top  of  the  picture.  Do- 
menichino's  Communion  of  St.  Jerome,  in  the  Vat- 
ican Gallery  (Fig.  51),  also  uses  the  architecture  in 
this  manner,  and  in  order  to  make  doubly  sure  that 
the  eye  will  return  from  the  top  of  the  picture  to 
the  central  figures,  several  Angels  are  arranged  in  a 
line  which  points  to  the  dying  Saint. 


198  UNITY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

§  4.  Unity  Through  Suggested  Movement 

The  arrangement  of  the  figures  in  the  shape  of  a 
triangle  is  the  classical  form  of  binding  them,  but 
many  other  shapes  have  been  tried,  such  as  the 
ellipse  in  Fra  Angelico's  picture  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment in  the  Academy  in  Florence  (Fig.  52)  or  the 
lunette  of  the  Luca  della  Robbia  plaque  in  the 
Bargello  (Fig.  53),  or  the  Madonna  of  the  Sack  of 
Andrea  del  Sarto  in  the  Annunziata  in  Florence 
(Fig.  54).  The  skill  of  the  artist  was  very  severely 
taxed  at  times  to  place  all  his  figures  within  the 
triangle,  but  the  form  acted  as  a  safe  guide  for  the 
maintenance  of  unity,  although  the  figures  had  fre- 
quently to  be  placed  in  awkward  positions  in  order 
to  crowd  them  into  the  triangular  shape,  as  may  be 
observed  in  Fra  Bartolommeo's  Deposition  in  the 
Pitti  (Fig.  55),  or  da  Vinci's  St.  Ann,  Virgin  and 
Child  in  the  Louvre,  Paris  (Fig.  56).  A  closer 
unity  is  hardly  conceivable  than  that  obtained  in 
these  latter  pictures. 

The  stronger  the  empathic  movement  that  the 
lines  arouse  in  the  observer,  the  closer  will  be  the 
imity.  The  artist  who  is  able  to  arouse  strong  em- 
pathic movements  from  one  part  of  the  picture  to 
the  other,  does  not  need  to  resort  to  other  methods 
of  unification.  For  instance,  in  Michael  Angelo's 
Creation  of  Man,  on  the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine 
Chapel  (Fig.  57),  through  the  dynamic  value  which 
is  imparted  to  the  lines  of  the  arms  of  the  two 
figures,  one  almost  feels  the  spark  of  life  leap  from 


Fig.  52. — Last  Judgment,  by  Fra  Angelico, 
Academy,  Florence. 


Fig.  .53. — Lunette,  by  Luca   della   Robbia,   Bargello,  Florence. 


Fig.  54.— Madonna  of  the  Sack,  by  Andrea  del  Sarto,  Annunciata, 
Florence. 


Fig.  55.— Deposition,  by  Fra  Bartolommeo,  Pitti  Gallery,  Florence. 


UNITY   THROUGH    MOVEMENT        199 

the  fingers  of  God  to  those  of  Adam,  and  a  perfect 
unity  is  produced  in  this  way,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  there  is  a  broad  and  bright  strip  of  color  be- 
tween the  two  dark  masses,  and  the  Hues  of  the 
two  halves  of  the  picture  not  only  do  not  overlap 
but  do  not  even  touch  at  any  point.  In  the  Mar- 
riage of  St.  Catherine  by  Luini,  in  the  Museum 
Poldi-Pezzoli  in  Milan  (Fig.  58),  on  the  other  hand, 
there  is  much  spatial  unity  produced  by  overlap- 
ping, but  the  empathic  effect  is  weak  and  conse- 
quently the  unity  is  not  so  strong  as  in  the  paint- 
ing by  Michael  Angelo. 

Some  artists  have  attempted  to  portray  several 
themes  in  the  same  picture,  with  the  result  that 
the  mind  is  confused  even  though  one  of  the  scenes 
is  made  dominant  and  the  others  incidental.  So 
strong  is  the  distracting  effect  of  the  unconnected 
content  that  the  formal  elements  of  the  picture  are 
not  able  to  achieve  the  unity  necessary  for  a  thor- 
ough enjoyment  of  it.  A  good  example  of  this  is 
the  Filippo  Lippi  Virgin  and  Child  in  the  Pitti 
(Fig.  59).  In  the  foreground  are  the  Virgin  and 
Child,  the  beauty  of  which  one  desires  to  enjoy,  but 
one's  attention  is  distracted  by  a  group  of  visitors 
on  the  right,  by  the  birth  scene  of  the  Virgin  on  the 
left,  and  by  the  figures  in  the  extreme  background. 
It  is  impossible  to  unite  these  into  one  idea  and 
the  distraction  is  comparable  to  listening  to  a  sym- 
phony when  another  orchestra  is  near  by.  Ghir- 
landaio's  Birth  of  the  Virgin  in  Sta.  Maria  Novella 
in  Florence  (Fig.  60)  has  a  similar  effect.    The  birth 


200  UNITY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

scene  is  prominent,  but  on  the  left  is  the  visitation, 
and  in  the  upper  part  of  the  picture  is  a  frieze  of 
small  children  whose  animated  movements  in  no 
way  coincide  with  the  arrangement  of  the  rest  of 
the  picture.  It  must  also  be  remembered  that 
many  of  the  figures  are  portraits  of  celebrated 
women  of  \he  time.  Our  attention  is  directed 
toward  them  by  the  grouping  and  the  glances  of 
the  attendant,  as  well  as  to  the  Child  by  the  act  of 
the  maid  preparing  the  bath,  so  there  is  a  very  un- 
pleasant conflict  of  empathic  impulses  in  the  very 
center  of  the  picture.  The  distraction  must  have 
been  still  greater  for  the  contemporaries  of  the 
artist,  since  there  would  have  been  the  interest  in 
the  well-known  society  women.  Time,  by  increas- 
ing the  distance  in  the  observer,  has  favored  the 
unity  in  this  respect.  In  Ghirlandaio's  Birth  of  St. 
John  the  Baptist  in  Sta.  Maria  Novella  in  Florence 
(Fig.  61),  the  secondary  scenes  have  been  elimin- 
ated, and  there  is  a  centralization  of  interest  in 
the  Child,  produced  by  the  grouping  and  the  out- 
stretched hands  of  the  figure  on  the  left,  but  the 
attention  is  here  also  drawn  toward  the  visitors, 
and  the  scene,  which  otherwise  would  have  been 
one  of  delightful  calm  and  dignity,  is  one  of  rest- 
lessness produced  by  the  conflicting  interests.  This 
is  a  very  good  instance  of  what  is  constantly  oc- 
curring in  art,  namely,  that  the  artist  is  influenced 
by  the  conventions  of  his  time,  which  either  blind 
him  to  the  essentials  of  beauty  or,  through  their 
importance  for  his  local  reputation,  make  him  in- 


Fig.  56.— St.  Ann,  Virgin  and  Child,  by 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Louvre,  Paris. 


-Creation  of  Man,  by  Michael  Angelo,  ceiling  of  Sistine 
Chapel,  Vatican,  Rome. 


Fig.  58.— Marriage  of  St.  Catherine,  by  Bernardino 
Luini,  Museum  Poldi-Pezzoli,  Milan. 


Fig.  59.— Virgin  and  Child,  by  Filippo  Lippi, 
Pitti  Gallery,  Florence. 


UNITY  THROUGH   MOVEMENT        201 

different  to  the  more  fundamental  principles  of  his 
art.  It  cannot  be  said  either  that  there  were  not 
excellent  examples  from  the  past  for  these  artists 
to  follow,  such  as  Giotto's  well-unified  and  digni- 
fied groupings. 

The  Adoration  of  the  Magi  has  involved  for  most 
artists  the  handling  of  a  great  crowd,  and  some 
have  cared  little  how  the  figures  were  arranged,  so 
long  as  they  were  brought  into  the  picture.  There 
has  been  generally  at  least  some  arrangement  of 
the  figures  about  the  central  group,  as  in  Filippino 
Lippi's  picture  in  the  UflBzi  (Fig.  62),  which  has 
more  of  a  decorative  than  a  pictorial  value.  Gen- 
tile da  Fabriano,  in  his  picture  in  the  Academy  in 
Florence  (Fig.  63),  made  the  mistake,  so  far  as 
unity  is  concerned,  of  turning  the  procession  in  the 
background  away  from  the  main  scene,  and  not 
toward  it,  as  Ghirlandaio  did  in  his  picture  in  the 
same  gallery  (Fig.  64).  Leonardo  da  Vinci  found 
that  the  portrayal  of  so  many  figures,  no  matter 
how  well  arranged,  was  distracting,  and  therefore 
disturbing  to  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  so  that,  with 
characteristic  independence  of  the  customs  of  his 
age,  he  eliminated  all  but  the  most  essential  fig- 
ures, although  he  was  entirely  capable  of  unifying 
a  large  group. 

In  the  treatment  of  crowds,  the  greater  the  force 
in  the  suggested  movement,  provided  the  move- 
ment itself  is  unified,  the  more  completely  will  the 
picture  be  apprehended  as  a  whole.  A  comparison 
of  the  picture  by  Gentile  Bellini  of  the  Miracle  of 


202  UNITY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

the  Holy  Cross  in  the  Academy  in  Venice  (Fig.  65) 
with  Raphael's  Heliodorus  in  the  Vatican  (Fig.  66), 
will  make  this  principle  clear.  In  the  former  pic- 
tm-e,  the  figures,  which  are  well  arranged  about  the 
central  scene,  are  quietly  standing  or  kneeling,  and 
so  passive  are  they  and  so  indifferent  to  their  neigh- 
bors that  our  attention  is  inclined  to  wander  from 
group  to  group  according  to  whim.  It  is  only 
through  the  fact  that  the  onlookers  are  arranged 
in  a  ring  about  the  central  actors  and  are  turned 
toward  the  miracle  that  the  picture  is  held  together. 
When  we  empathize  in  the  various  attitudes  of  the 
observers  of  the  scene,  we  feel  a  lack  of  force. 
There  is  no  leaning  forward,  no  figures  pointing,  no 
intensity  of  gaze.  In  fact,  the  figures  are  decidedly 
lackadaisical  and  seemingly  devoid  of  any  great 
interest  in  what  is  occurring.  In  the  Heliodorus, 
on  the  other  hand,  there  is  only  one  thing  that  we 
can  do,  for  we  are  almost  literally  swept  from  fig- 
ure to  figure,  beginning  on  the  left,  past  the  point- 
ing group  to  the  man  on  the  pillar,  and  with  all 
his  intensity  of  attitude  to  the  priest  at  the  altar, 
and  then  with  the  violent  movement  of  runners 
and  horsemen  to  the  recumbent  figure  on  the 
right.  We  experience  little  hesitancy  anywhere. 
If  we  stop  for  a  moment  at  the  priest,  the  point- 
ing women  urge  us  on  toward  the  horsemen.  If  we 
fail  at  once  to  observe  the  priest  on  account  of  the 
movements  on  either  side  of  the  picture,  the  figure 
on  the  pillar  soon  attracts  our  attention  in  his  di- 
rection.   Every  line  of  force  has  a  definite  meaning 


Fig.  60. — Birth  of  the  Virgin,  by  Ghirlandaio,  Sta.  Maria  Novella, 

Florence. 


Fig.  61. — Birth  of  St.  John,  by  Ghirlandaio,  Sta.  Maria  Novella, 
Florence. 


Fig.  62.— Adoration  of  the  Magi,  by 
Filippino  Lippi,  Ufl&zi,  Florence. 


Fig.  64.— Adoration  of  the  Shepherds, 
'    Ghirlandaio,  Academy,  Florence. 


by 


Fig.  63.— Adoration  of  the  Magi,  by  Fabriano, 
Academy,  Florence. 


UNITY  THROUGH  MOVEMENT        203 

relative  to  the  unity  of  the  whole  picture,  and  so 
well  coordinated  are  they  that  as  soon  as  we  have 
perceived  th^  various  lines,  the  picture  closes  into 
a  compact  form,  a  result  which  is  difficult  of  at- 
tainment in  such  a  composition,  but  when  success- 
ful is  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  in  art.  A  picture 
which,  delightful  in  other  respects,  has  failed  in  re- 
gard to  unity  is  Carpaccio's  St  Jerome  Leading 
the  Lion  into  the  Monastery,  in  San  Giorgio 
degli  Schiavoni  in  Venice  (Fig.  67) .  Carpaccio  is  an 
artist  who  usually  attains  a  large  degree  of  unity, 
but  he  has  seldom  dealt  with  such  strong  forces  as 
in  this  picture.  The  monks  in  the  foreground  are 
running  precipitately  toward  the  right,  while 
others  in  the  background  are  fleeing  with  equal 
haste  toward  the  left;  consequently  one  is  pulled 
in  two  directions  at  once  with  a  result  so  painful 
that  the  true  merit  of  the  picture  suffers. 

How  strong  are  the  various  factors  of  unity 
which  have  thus  far  been  enumerated,  is  shown  in 
the  picture  by  Bernardino  Luini,  of  the  Madonna 
Addolorata  and  Christ  with  the  Cross  in  the  Mu- 
seum Poldi-Pezzoli  in  Milan  (Fig.  68) .  Superficially 
they  are  two  pictures,  for  a  pilaster  of  the  frame 
separates  the  Madonna  from  the  Christ.  This  is 
hardly  noticed,  however;  so  closely  bound  together 
are  the  figures  by  the  Cross  extending  from  Christ 
to  the  Madonna,  by  the  direction  of  gaze  of  the 
two  heads,  and  by  the  strong  empathic  effect  of  the 
man's  arm  which,  extending  from  the  picture  on  the 
right,  violently  pushes  the  shoulder  of  the  Madonna 


204  UNITY  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

in  an  attempt  to  thrust  her  aside,  but  without  ef- 
fect, thus  emphasizing  in  an  unusually  successful 
manner,  through  the  unity,  the  strength  of  the 
devotion  which  is  binding  Mother  and  Son. 

§  5.   Attraction   of  Attention  Through   De- 
tailed Execution 

A  final  form  of  centralizing  the  attention  is  a 
fundamental  psychological  one,  and  one  which 
was  first  successfully  employed  by  Velasquez — the 
founder  of  Impressionism.  When  we  look  at  a 
landscape  or  a  person,  our  eyes  rest  upon  the  chief 
point  of  interest.  If  it  is  a  person,  the  attention 
will  be  directed  to  the  face.  This  will  then  be 
clearly  perceived,  and  so  long  as  the  eyes  do  not 
move,  the  rest  of  the  figure  will  be  seen  with  in- 
creasing indistinctness  toward  the  outer  field  of 
vision.  True  to  the  direct  impression  made  upon 
the  mind,  Velasquez  has  painted  clearly  the  de- 
tails of  the  face,  but  the  design  Becomes  more  and 
more  sketchy  the  farther  it  is  from  the  central 
point.  For  example,  the  design  in  the  lace  about 
the  collar  is  plainly  indicated,  as  well  as  the  pattern 
in  the  cloth  of  the  dress,  but  the  trimming  about 
the  sleeves  will  probably  be  found  to  be  a  single 
stroke  of  white  paint,  and  often  the  pattern  will 
entirely  disappear  toward  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
ment. This  effect  may  be  seen  in  most  of  Velas- 
quez's portraits  and  in  those  of  most  modern 
painters.  A  good  example  is  the  Infanta  Margareta 
by  Velasquez,  in  the  Prado  in  Madrid  (Fig.  69). 


-Miracle  of  the  Holy  Cross,  by  Gentile  Bellini, 
Academy,  Venice. 


Fig.  66. — Expulsion  of  Heliodorus  from  the  Temple, 
by  Raphael,  Vatican,  Rome. 


Fig.  67. — St.  Jerome  Leading  the  Lion  into  the  Mon- 
astery, by  Carpaccio,  San  Giorgio  degli  Schiavoni, 
Venice. 


DETAILED  EXECUTION  205 

As  a  result  of  this  treatment,  the  face  stands  out 
prominently,  and  the  attention  is  fixed  upon  it  while 
the  indistinctness  of  the  greater  part  of  the  picture 
is  so  in  harmony  with  experience  that  one  is  in  no 
way  disturbed  by  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  very 
welcome  aid  to  the  proper  distribution  'of  atten- 
tion. In  the  perception  of  such  a  portrait,  there 
is  no  wandering  of  the  attention  from  point  to 
point  in  the  picture,  but  almost  at  once  it  is  per- 
ceived as  a  whole,  each  factor  in  the  composition 
having  its  proper  effect. 

In  describing  the  imity  of  pictures,  we  have  al- 
most invariably  mentioned  a  central  point  of  in- 
terest and  subordinate  factors  to  right  and  left. 
Thus  far,  we  have  been  concerned  with  the  manner 
in  which  subordinate  factors  were  related  to  one 
another,  and  to  the  point  of  greatest  interest.  We 
have  not  yet  reached  the  end  of  our  problem,  how- 
ever, for  every  means  thus  far  enumerated  for  ob- 
taining unity  might  be  employed,  but  if  the  two 
halves  of  the  picture  do  not  balance  each  other,  the 
composition  will  not  be  a  success.  Balance  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  unity  in  all  the  arts,  and  owing 
to  its  importance,  a  discussion  of  its  nature,  to- 
gether with  that  of  the  principle  of  proportion, 
will  form  the  subject  of  a  separate  chapter. 


CHAPTER  IX 
BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION. 

§  1.  Balance  about  the  Perpendicular  Axis 

A  CHILD  or  a  member  of  a  primitive  race,  in  ar- 
ranging a  composition,  will  almost  invariably  place 
the  main  figure  in  the  center,  with  other  objects 
frequently  identical  in  shape  equally  distant  on 
either  side.  For  example,  in  drawing  a  house,  the 
child  tends  to  place  the  door  in  the  middle  and  on 
either  side  a  window  and  these  of  equal  size.  This 
gives  a  perfect  symmetry,  and  is  the  simplest  way 
of  obtaining  horizontal  balance.^  It  is  also  the 
easiest  balance  for  the  observer  to  understand. 
Nevertheless  symmetrical  balance  is  rarely  found 
in  well-developed  art.  The  balance  is  made  asym- 
metrical in  various  ways,  either  by  placing  dissim- 
ilar objects  on  each  side  of  the  center  or  at  different 
distances  from  it,  by  moving  the  point  of  balance 
or  fulcrum  off  the  center,  or  by  both  moving  this 
point  of  balance  and  introducing  objects  of  various 
shapes,  sizes,  and  colors.    The  balance  is  thus  made 

^  The  Century  Dictionary  defines  symmetrical  as  "  The  metrical  correspond- 
ence of  parts  with  reference  to  a  median  plane,  each  element  of  geometrical 
form  having  its  counterpart  upon  the  opposite  side  of  that  plane,  in  the  same 
continued  perpendicular  to  the  plane,  and  at  the  same  distance  from  it,  so 
that  the  two  halves  are  geometrically  related  as  a  body  and  its  image  in  a 
plane  mirror:"  etc.  Some  authors  include  every  form  of  balance  under  the 
term  "symmetry,"  but  the  word  is  here  used  as  defined  above,  and  other 
forms  of  balance,  where  there  is  not  this  bilateral  correspondence,  are  termed 
"asymmetrical  balance." 


Fig.  68. — Madonna  Addolorata  and  Christ  with  the  Cross,  by 
Bernardino  Luini,  Museum  Poldi-Pezzoli,  Milan. 


Fig.  69. — Infanta  Margareta,  by  Velasquez, 
Prado,  JVIadrid. 


FACTORS  SUGGESTING  WEIGHT       207 

increasingly  complex.  In  this  balance  there  is  in- 
volved the  mechanical  principle  of  the  lever.  The 
simplest  form,  that  is  in  the  aesthetic  sense,  cor- 
responds to  the  mechanical  balance  where  equal 
weights  are  equally  distant  on  either  side  of  the 
fulcrum  or  point  of  suspension.  If  a  heavy  weight 
is  placed  on  one  side  of  the  fulcrum,  a  light  weight 
must  be  placed  farther  from  the  fulcrum  on  the 
other  side. 

§  %.  Factors  Suggesting  Weight. 

In  architecture  and  sculpture  the  principle  of 
balance  according  to  mechanical  laws,  is  readily 
imderstood,  but  there  are  no  "weights"  in  fine 
arts,  music,  literature,  and  the  drama.  We  have 
then  to  inquire  what  corresponds  in  these  fields  of 
art  to  the  weights  in  mechanical  balance;  that  is, 
what  are  the  objective  factors  that  must  be  con- 
sidered by  the  artist  in  order  to  induce  a  sense  of 
balance,  and  what  is  the  psychological  equivalent 
of  this  mechanical  balance?  When  this  last  is 
answered,  we  shall  know  why  we  desire  balance, 
and  in  what  way  it  is  related  to  unity.  We  shall 
also  be  in  a  position  to  decide  why  certain  forms  of 
balance  and  proportion  are  preferred. 

It  would  be  well  to  commence  with  some  of  the 
factors  used  to  produce  balance,  and  the  manner 
of  their  arrangement.  An  interesting  study  of 
balance  in  the  fine  arts  was  made  by  Miss  Puffer,^ 

^  "Studies  in  Symmetry,"  Harvard  Psychological  Studies,  Vol.  I,  pp.  467- 
539. 


208  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

and  as  the  results  throw  considerable  light  upon 
the  problem,  the  experiment  will  be  described  in 
some  detail.  Her  first  experiment  was  to  deter- 
mine in  what  relation  to  each  other,  upon  a  black 
surface,  we  would  place  two  vertical  narrow  white 
strips  of  cardboard,  one  of  which  was  twice  as  long 
as  the  other,  in  order  to  obtain  a  pleasing  balance. 
One  strip  was  placed  at  a  certain  distance  from  the 
middle  of  the  black  background,  and  the  other  was 
moved  back  and  forth  on  the  other  side  of  the  cen- 
ter until  a  balance  was  obtained.  This  was  re- 
peated for  various  positions  of  the  stationary  ver- 
tical strip.  It  was  found  that  in  many  instances 
the  strips  were  arranged  in  imitation  of  mechanical 
balance;  that  is,  the  smaller  strip  which  was  half 
the  size  of  the  larger  strip  was  placed  twice  as  far 
from  the  center.  Exceptions  occurred  when  both 
lines  would  have  had  to  be  very  near  the  center  or 
the  edge;  then  the  observer  felt  that  the  large 
unoccupied  spaces  were  disturbing,  and  he  conse- 
quently deviated  from  the  mechanical  balance  ar- 
rangement. It  is  probable  that  when  the  strips 
were  near  the  center  or  the  edges,  the  observer 
balanced  each  half  of  the  surface  independently 
of  the  other  half.  At  any  rate,  whatever  the  ex- 
planation, such  instances  are  of  value  as  showing 
that  many  unsuspected  factors  may  come  in  to  de- 
termine aesthetic  judgments. 

The  next  experiment  was  upon  the  factor  of 
suggested  movement.  One  of  the  strips  was 
pointed  at  the  top,  thus  giving  the  direction  of 


FACTORS  SUGGESTING  WEIGHT       209 

movement,  and  inclined  at  an  angle  of  45  degrees. 
In  one  experiment  it  was  turned  toward  the  center, 
and  in  the  other  away  from  it.  It  was  found  that 
if  the  inclination  of  the  strip  was  away  from  the 
center,  the  strip  itself  was  brought  nearer  the 
center,  but  if  the  inclination  was  toward  the  cen- 
ter the  strip  was  placed  farther  from  the  center. 
This  means  that  a  suggested  movement  out  from 
the  center  produced  a  sense  of  lightness  and  vice 
versa. 

Experiments  were  then  made  to  determine  the 
effect  of  what  Miss  Puffer  termed  "intrinsic  in- 
terest," which  she  defines  as  "The  interest  which 
would  attach  to  an  object  quite  apart  from  its 
place  in  the  space  composition.  In  a  picture  it 
would  be  represented  by  the  interest  in  an  impor- 
tant person,  in  an  unusual  object,  or  in  an  espe- 
cially beautiful  object,  if  that  beauty  were  inde- 
pendent of  the  other  forms  in  the  picture — as,  for 
instance,  a  lovely  face,  or  a  jeweled  goblet,  etc."  ^ 
Two  postage  stamps  in  black  and  white  were 
placed  on  either  side  of  the  center,  one  of  the 
stamps  being  changed  from  experiment  to  experi- 
ment in  order  to  hold  the  interest,  the  other  re- 
maining the  same.  It  was  found  that  with  few 
exceptions,  the  changed  stamp,  that  is,  the  object 
possessing  the  greater  interest,  was  placed  nearer 
the  center  than  the  mechanical  balance  demanded, 
thus  proving  that  interest  acted  like  a  mechanical 
weight. 

*  Op.  eU.,  pp.  499-500. 


210  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

The  final  experiment  was  concerned  with  the 
effect  of  depth  of  vista.  Two  pictures,  80  mm. 
square,  were  used.  The  one  was  that  of  a  railway 
tunnel,  closed  tightly  at  the  entrance  by  a  massive 
door.  The  other  was  of  identical  form  and  sur- 
roundings, but  with  the  door  open,  showing  the 
perspective  of  the  rails,  the  blackness  within  the 
tunnel,  and  the  small  circle  of  light  at  the  farther 
end.  The  observers  were  requested  to  "feel  the 
third  dimension  as  vividly  as  possible — ^to  project 
themselves  down  the  vistas,  as  it  were — ^then  to  ar- 
range the  squares  in  the  most  pleasing  manner." 
The  picture  which  suggested  a  vista  seemed  to 
have  the  greater  weight  value,  and  was  placed 
nearer  the  center.  It  was  found  later  in  analyzing 
classical  pictures,  that  vistas  were  frequently  used 
to  obtain  balance  in  the  manner  described.  In  such 
pictures  the  vista  was  opposed  to  other  seemingly 
heavy  elements,  and  the  heavier  these  elements 
appeared  the  deeper  was  the  vista  used. 

§  3.  Explanation  of  the  Perception  of  Sug- 
gested Weight 

The  question  why  these  various  factors  should 
balance  under  these  conditions  remains  to  be  an- 
swered; that  is,  what  is  the  underlying  psychologi- 
cal explanation,  for  it  is  not  sufficient  to  say  that 
such  factors  have  "weight.'*  In  many  cases  there 
is  not  the  slightest  intimation  of  actual  weight  in 
one's  perception.  Let  us  analyze  the  various  ex- 
periences in  order  to  discover  if  there  is  not  ulti- 


PERCEPTION  OF  WEIGHT  211 

mately  one  explanation  applicable  to  them  all, 
namely,  the  balance  of  motor  impulses.  This  prin- 
ciple was  accepted  by  Miss  Puffer,  but  unfortu- 
nately she  obscured  it  by  referring  ultimately  to  the 
function  of  attention.  In  the  first  place,  we  must 
remember  that  the  principle  of  the  perception  of 
objects  is,  as  has  been  set  forth,  motor  adjustment 
toward  that  object,  and  when  the  perception  is  an 
aesthetic  one  there  is  an  empathic  adjustment  in 
the  object.  In  the  experiment  with  the  strips  of 
unequal  size,  the  larger  strip  may  through  experi- 
ence suggest  greater  weight,  and  there  will  then  be 
a  stronger  empathic  response;  that  is,  we  shall  feel 
a  downward  pull  which  will  be  greater  on  the  side 
of  the  larger  strip ;  unless,  then,  the  laws  of  mechan- 
ical balance  are  observed,  the  composition  will  tilt 
toward  that  side  and  the  experience  will  be  un- 
pleasant. It  is  not  necessary  that  there  be  a  con- 
scious mental  process  of  calculating  how  far  out 
such  a  weight  should  be  placed  according  to  me- 
chanical laws.  In  fact,  it  is  probable  that  such  a 
calculation  is  seldom  made.  We  have  frequently 
had  the  experience  of  balancing  objects  in  this  way, 
so  that  we  soon  get  the  "feel"  of  such  a  situation. 
It  is  quite  possible  that  some  persons  can  place  the 
strip  accurately  according  to  this  "feel"  although 
they  are  unacquainted  with  the  laws  of  mechanical 
balance.  There  are,  indeed,  many  builders  who 
know  by  the  "feel"  of  things  how  to  support  their 
weights  without  being  able  to  work  the  problem 
out  on  paper. 


m  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

It  is  quite  possible  that  in  some  instances  the 
mechanical  principle  of  the  lever  does  not  underlie 
an  aesthetic  balance.  There  may  be  merely  a  bal- 
ancing of  motor  impulses  on  either  side,  in  which 
case  it  would  not  be  correct  to  speak  of  "weight.'* 
The  balance  will  then  consist  of  our  empathy  in  the 
short  perpendicular  strip  plus  the  empathic  sweep 
through  the  longer  distance  to  the  center,  which 
total  strength  of  impulse  will  equal  the  empathy  in 
the  longer  perpendicular  strip  plus  the  shorter 
sweep  to  the  center.  The  most  easily  recognized 
balance  of  impulses  is  where  motion  is  suggested 
by  an  object  such  as  a  horse  galloping  away  from 
the  center  of  the  picture.  Unless  there  is  some  com- 
pensating impulse  in  the  opposite  direction,  the  re- 
sult will  be  disastrous  so  far  as  aesthetic  enjoyment 
is  concerned.  The  various  forms  of  reaction,  how- 
ever, are  not  essentially  different,  for  they  all  re- 
duce to  a  balance  of  empathic  responses.  In  that 
balance  where  the  line  inclines  or  points  toward 
the  center,  there  is  a  restriction  of  the  empathy 
from  the  center  to  the  object,  so  that  the  latter 
must  be  placed  farther  from  the  center  than  when 
the  line  is  inclined  away  from  the  center.  In  the 
experiment  with  the  vistas  there  is  an  increased 
empathic  activity  as  soon  as  the  observer  imagines 
himself  looking  into  the  depth  of  the  picture,  or 
"plunging  down  the  third  dimension,"  according 
to  Miss  Puffer's  description.^    Added  to  this  the 

»  Oj>.  cit.,  p.  528. 


PERCEPTION  OF  WEIGHT  213 

perception  of  greater  depth  which  involves  that 
of  more  space  may  arouse  the  idea  of  weight.  In 
any  case,  the  vistas  must,  on  account  of  this 
greater  activity,  be  placed  near  the  center  or  else 
be  counterbalanced  by  some  very  strong  element. 
In  explanation  of  the  increased  "weight"  of  an 
object,  which  is  constantly  changed,  it  is  not  suf- 
ficient to  speak  merely  of  increased  interest,  be- 
cause interest  can  be  reduced  to  augmented  motor 
responses,  for  that  is  what  underlies  the  mental 
state  called  interest.  Any  object  of  beauty  what- 
soever, as  soon  as  it  arouses  our  interest,  stimu- 
lates our  empathic  responses  and  these  the  artist 
must  be  careful  to  bring  to  some  sort  of  balance. 

Why  brighter  colors  seem,  as  a  rule,  lighter  in 
weight  than  darker  colors  is  not  so  evident.  Dr. 
Edgar  Pierce,  for  example,  found  that  the  darker 
colors,  blue,  maroon,  and  green,  are  placed  nearer 
the  center  in  balancing  than  are  the  brighter  colors, 
white,  red,  and  orange.^  There  is  probably  even 
here  a  characteristic  empathic  response,  a  feeling 
of  expansion  or  contraction  perhaps,  which  influ- 
ences the  apparent  weight  of  the  colors.  Undoubt- 
edly the  associations  from  previous  experience 
with  the  colors  are  also  important  factors  in  bal- 
ance. Even  the  setting  in  which  the  colors  are 
placed  makes  a  difference  in  the  effect  produced  by 
them.  Although  one  may  say  in  general  that  white 
is  lighter  in  weight  than  black,  a  white  moon  on  a 

^"iEsthetics  of  Simple  Form,"  Psychol.  Rev.,  1894,  I,  p.  494. 


214  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

black  background  has   been  used   to  balance  a 
large  object  on  the  other  side  of  the  picture.^ 

§  4.  Why  Symmetry  and  Balance  are  Desired 

That  symmetry  and  balance  are  pleasing  is  ac- 
knowledged by  all,  but  there  is  a  difference  of  opin- 
ion regarding  the  cause  of  this  pleasure.  One  the- 
ory has  been  that  the  feeling  for  symmetry  has 
developed  from  that  of  usefulness.  Utensils  were 
made  with  two  handles,  one  on  either  side,  huts 
were  built  symmetrically,  for  practical  reasons 
instruments  had  to  be  balanced,  etc.  Of  how  much 
influence  this  factor  of  usefulness  was  on  the  de- 
velopment in  the  race  of  the  sense  of  symmetry  is 
difficult  to  state,  but  there  seems  to  be  direct 
evidence  from  anthropological  investigations  that 
primitive  people  purposely  changed  their  pictorial 
designs  and  their  utensils  in  the  direction  of  sym- 
metry where  not  the  slightest  question  of  useful- 
ness was  involved.  Representation  of  animals  is 
the  most  usual  form  of  primitive  art.  When  they 
were  drawn  full-face,  symmetry  was  easily  ob- 
tained, but  even  when  the  animals  were  depicted 
in  profile,  the  two  eyes  and  other  symmetrical 
features  were  represented.     One  can  also  readily 

There  are  various  other  means  of  obtaining  balance,  some  of  which  have 
been  described  by  Dr.  Denmon  Ross.  He  speaks  for  example  of  the  balance 
of  motion  and  weight:  "It  will  sometimes  happen,  that  a  gradation  of  tones 
or  measm-es  will  draw  the  eye  in  a  certain  direction,  toward  the  greater 
contrast,  while  a  larger  mass  or  measure  of  tone,  on  the  other  side,  will  be 
holding  it  back.  In  such  a  case  we  may  have  a  mass  balancing  a  motion." 
A  Theory  oj  Pure  Design,  p.  178. 


SYMMETRY  AND  BALANCE  DESIRED    215 

trace,  through  a  series  of  primitive  designs,  the 
development  from  a  recognizable  though  conven- 
tional representation  of  an  animal,  to  the  symmetri- 
cal pattern  which  has  lost  almost  all  resemblance 
to  the  original.  1  Also  we  find  that  the  same  prim- 
itive people  may  show  the  greatest  irregularity 
when  their  drawings  are  to  serve  a  practical  pur- 
pose, but  that  the  designs  become  symmetrical  as 
soon  as  they  are  used  for  decorative  purposes,  as 
in  tattooing.  The  symmetry  of  many  of  the  de- 
signs, most  of  them  being  conventional  representa- 
tions of  living  creatures,  shows  a  high  degree  of 
ingenuity  on  the  part  of  primitive  artists. 

These  facts  make  it  very  probable  that  the  de- 
sire for  symmetry  and  other  forms  of  balance  is  a 
distinct  and  independent  one,  and  not  a  chance 
development.  If  this  is  true,  it  is  necessary  to 
know  why  balance  is  found  to  be  not  only  pleasing 
but  necessary  where  we  have  art  form.  Even  those 
who  believe  in  inherited  forms  of  response  could 
hardly  be  satisfied  with  the  explanation  that  it  was 
an  original  instinct.  We  must  therefore  seek  the 
solution  in  experience.  The  most  obvious  one  has 
seemed  to  be  that  symmetry  appeals  because  man 
himself  is  symmetrically  built.  If  we  accepted 
this  it  would  still  be  necessary  to  explain  why  man 
should  desire  art  to  be  always  shaped  according  to 
his  own  image,  why  he  would  not  rather  tire  of  such 
a  construction  and  desire  a  new  one.  There  is  also 
the  fact  that  it  is  a  very  rare  exception  for  man  to 

*  E.  D.  Puflfer,  Studies  in  Symmetry,  p.  476. 


216  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

be  built  symmetrically.  He  is  almost  invariably 
larger  on  one  side  than  on  the  other,  and  there  are 
all  sorts  of  irregularities  in  the  human  figure.  No 
matter  how  he  is  constructed,  however,  there  is 
one  thing  he  finds  it  necessary  to  maintain,  and 
that  is  physical  balance.  Anything  which  disturbs 
his  equilibrium  he  necessarily  finds  disagreeable, 
and  the  maintenance  of  balance  has  through  prac- 
tice become  one  of  his  most  firmly  established 
habits.  If  the  body  tilts  to  one  side,  there  is  an  in- 
stant response  from  antagonistic  muscles  to  restore 
the  balance.  It  is  fair  to  assume  then  that  a  bal- 
ance of  motor  impulses  and  an  equalizing  of  the 
accompanying  feelings  of  strain,^  no  matter  what 
muscle  groups  may  be  involved,  soon  become  a 
well-established  desire  of  the  organism.  If  to  this 
we  add  the  habit  of  empathic  response,  we  shall 
have  at  least  a  plausible  theory  to  explain  the  de- 
sire for  balance  in  art. 

Lotze,  with  his  usual  clear  insight,  has  offered  an 
explanation  of  symmetry  which  is  in  entire  accord 
with  the  findings  of  modern  psychology.  He  has 
written:  *'I  am  certain  that  the  investigator  can 
convince  himself  that  the  agreeableness  of  spatial 
symmetry  does  not  depend  directly  upon  the  regu- 
larity of  proportional  relations  [in  the  object],  but 
rather    indirectly   upon    the   pleasantness   which 


'  For  a  description  of  the  physiological  processes,  that  is,  "  the  correspond- 
ing equality  of  muscular  innervations  involved,"  see  "^Esthetics  of  Unequal 
Division,"  by  R.  P.  Angier,  Harvard  Psychological  Studies,  Volume  I,  pp. 
550-551. 


SYMMETRY  AND  BALANCE  DESIRED    217 

is  occasioned  by  the  perception  of  the  movement 
[in  ourselves]."  ^  He  further  says  that  the  mere 
mathematical  formula  leaves  us  cold;  that  it  is  not 
the  identity  of  the  parts,  but  the  balance  which  is 
aesthetically  operative,  and  as  we  cannot  speak  of 
balance  unless  we  are  acquainted  with  weight  and 
the  forces  by  which  objects  are  moved  in  space,  so 
it  is  this  experience  which  must  be  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  all  those  who  believe  that  they  derive  aes- 
thetic pleasure  from  purely  geometrical  relations. 
"We  can  understand  these  mechanical  relations 
aesthetically  only  in  so  far  as  we  can  feel  ourselves 
into  the  particular  weal  and  woe  which  moving 
things  experience  through  their  motion,  and  those 
in  equilibrium  through  their  repose,  and  for  this 
experience  the  cooperation  of  our  organism,  in- 
stead of  being  a  distracting  factor,  is,  indeed,  essen- 
tial." 2 

*  Geschichte  der  Mstiielik,  p.  76. 

*  Ihfid.,  pp.  78-79.  It  will  be  recognized  that  Lotze  is  describing  a  process 
of  empathy.  In  fact,  he  was  among  the  first  to  call  attention  to  it,  and  to 
the  importance  of  bodily  processes  in  general,  to  perception.  A  few  pages 
farther  on,  he  describes  more  fully  what  he  means  by  empathic  response. 
The  passage  is  taken  entirely  from  his  Mikrokoamus,  where  it  is  stated 
that  "We  not  only  contract  our  sensitive  mental  tendrils  into  as  small  a 
space  as  possible  in  order  to  share  the  dreams  of  the  restricted  existence  of 
the  mussel  and  the  monotonous  deUght  of  its  opening  and  shutting  reactions, 
we  not  only  expand  into  the  slender  forms  of  the  trees  whose  branches  are 
animated  by  the  breeze  into  graceful  bendings  and  swayings;  we  even  transfer 
these  interpretive  feelings  into  the  inanimate,  thus  enabling  us  to  transform 
the  dead  weight  and  support  of  buildings  into  so  many  limbs  of  a  living  or- 
ganism whose  inner  tensions  pass  over  into  ourselves."  (Vol.  II,  Book  5, 
Chap.  2,  p.  202.)  In  the  Geschichte,  Lotze  is  describing  Herder's  aes- 
thetic principles,  but  he  says  that  Herder  did  not  state  the  above  view  with 
the  exactitude  with  which  he,  Lotze,  has  given  it  to  us,  although  it  was  dis- 


218  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

A  design  which  has  a  heavier  object  on  one  side 
of  the  center  than  on  the  other,  or  whose  lines  sug- 
gest greater  activity  or  movement  on  one  side  will 
arouse  in  us  a  greater  response  on  that  side.  This 
response,  however,  will  appear  to  be  expressed  in 
the  design  itself,  thus  giving  it  a  tendency  to  in- 
cline to  one  side  or  to  fly  apart,  or  in  the  case  of 
lack  of  perpendicular  balance,  to  tip  over.  That 
is,  it  will  seem  to  lack  stability,  and  the  unity  of 
the  picture  will  be  disturbed.  Artists  who  have 
not  carefully  studied  composition  or  analyzed  their 
own  reactions  sometimes  "feel"  that  there  is  some- 
thing wrong  with  the  arrangement  of  their  design, 
that  it  is  restless  and  lacks  that  coherence  which 
unity  demands,  without  their  being  able  to  deter- 
mine the  cause.  It  also  happens  that  some  artists 
do  not  respond  to  any  great  extent  to  form  and 
balance;  that  is,  they  lack  the  sensitiveness  neces- 
sary for  correct  composition.  It  may  be  that 
their  interests  are  almost  entirely  absorbed  by  some 
other  feature  of  the  work  such  as  color,  or  because 
their  only  desire  in  beauty  is  to  represent  their 
model.  If  so,  the  form  and  balance  hardly  enter 
their  consciousness,  and  consequently  their  pro- 


tinctly  Herder's  endeavor  to  show  that  objects  of  beauty  are  not  merely 
vaguely  suggestive  but  expressive.  It  is  fair  to  assume,  however,  that  credit 
for  the  psychological  principles  expressed  belonged  to  Lotze  and  not  to 
Herder.  See  also  Fechner's  remarks  upon  Lotze's  theory;  "Zur  Experimen- 
talen  ^sthetik,"  Abhandlungen  der  Sachsischen  Gesellschaft  der  Wissen- 
schaften,  Mathem.  Phys.  Classe  IX,  p!  565.  Fechner  saw  nothing  in  Lotze's 
view  but  an  insistence  upon  association  factors  and  failed  to  grasp  the  deeper 
signiBcance  of  his  theory  not  only  for  aesthetics  but  for  all  perception. 


SYMMETRY  AND  BALANCE  DESIRED    219 

ductions  never  receive  the  highest  approval.  An 
instance  might  be  cited  of  an  artist  who  had 
painted  a  seascape,  which  showed  a  deHghtfuI  har- 
mony of  color — the  gray  of  the  fog,  the  green  of  the 
water,  and  a  touch  of  brighter  color  in  the  sail. 
The  composition  was  expressive  of  the  mystery  of 
the  sea,  but  the  artist  realized  that  something  was 
wrong.  Although  there  was  a  d6ad  calm  at  sea 
and  the  sail-boats  were  moving  slowly,  one  felt  a 
strange  uneasiness  for  which  one  was  able  to  ac- 
count by  the  fact  that  the  two  ships  in  the  picture 
were  moving  in  opposite  directions,  thus  making  it 
appear  as  if  the  picture  were  being  pulled  apart. 
Not  only  was  this  disturbing  in  itself,  but  it  was 
also  totally  out  of  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the 
composition.  There  was  a  balance  of  masses  to 
which  factor  the  artist  was  duly  sensitive,  but  not 
a  balance  of  suggested  movement.  As  Dr.  Denmon 
Ross  has  said  in  a  similar  connection:  "The  balance 
of  inclinations  is  felt  more  than  the  balance  of 
shapes."  ^ 

Not  every  one  is  able  to  describe  his  empathic 
reactions  as  accurately  as  Miss  C.  Anstruther- 
Thomson  has  done,  but  one  will  probably  recognize 
in  her  account  something  of  one's  own  experience. 
In  describing  her  aesthetic  appreciation  of  a  jar, 
she  writes:  "To  begin  with,  the  feet  press  on  the 
ground  while  the  eyes  fix  the  base  of  the  jar.  Then 
one  accompanies  the  lift  wp,  so  to  speak,  of  the  body 
of  the  jar  by  a  lift  up  of  one's  own  body;  and  one 

^  A  Theory  of  Pure  Design,  p.  87. 


220  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

accompanies  by  a  slight  sense  of  downward  pres- 
sure of  the  head  the  downward  pressure  of  the 
widened  rim  on  the  jar's  top.  .  .  .  Moreover,  the 
shape  of  the  jar  provokes  movements  of  balance, 
the  left  curve  a  shifting  on  to  the  left  foot,  and  vice 
versa.  A  complete  and  equally  distributed  set  of 
bodily  adjustments  has  accompanied  the  ocukir 
sight  of  the  jar;  this  totality  of  movements  and  har- 
mony of  movements  in  ourselves  answers  to  the 
intellectual  fact  of  finding  that  the  jar  is  a  harmo- 
nious whole.'*  ^  It  would  have  been  more  accurate 
to  state  that  the  harmony  of  movement  in  our- 
selves is  the  intellectual  fact. 

A  lack  of  symmetry  in  design  may  even  seem  to 
affect  the  breathing,  according  to  Miss  Anstruther- 
Thomson,  possibly  through  a  contraction  of  the 
muscles  on  the  one  side.  This  is  mentioned  here  to 
show  that  the  balance  may  be  not  only  between 
muscles  directly  concerned  with  equilibrium,  al- 
though it  is  very  probable  that  they  are  the  most 
frequently  involved,  and  are  primarily  the  cause 
of  our  pleasure  in  balance.  In  describing  her  re- 
action to  the  so-called  "honeysuckle  pattern"  of 
a  Greek  vase,  she  says:  "As  the  eyes  move  upwards 
along  the  pattern,  the  two  lungs  draw  in  a  long 
breath,  and  there  comes  a  slight  sensation  of  the 
sides  of  the  thorax  being  stretched:  this  sensation 
of  width  continues  while  the  breath  moves  upwards 
giving  us  simultaneously  the  sense  of  bilateral  width 
and  of  height,  the  proportion  between  which  being 

*  Beauty  and  Ugliness,  pp.  175-176. 


SYMMETRY  AND  BALANCE  DESIRED    221 

very  pleasant  to  breathe,  accounts  for  a  sense  of 
well-being  while  looking  at  the  pattern.  If  we  try 
to  reproduce  these  sensations  of  harmony  while 
looking  at  the  irregular  shapes  in  the  room,  we  are 
met  by  impossibilities;  we  can  no  longer  breathe 
equally  on  both  sides,  .  .  .  "  ^  To  most  readers 
such  a  reaction  will  seem  very  unnatural,  and  it 
will  be  objected  that  one  is  not  conscious  of  such 
bodily  reactions  while  enjoying  the  balance  of  a 
design.  Such  a  criticsm  is  to  some  extent  justi- 
fied. Normally  we  are  entirely  unconscious  of  such 
movements  in  ourselves,  as  was  stated  when  the 
process  of  empathy  was  described.  What  we  ex- 
perience is  the  result  of  these  processes  in  the  qual- 
ity of  the  object  perceived.  It  is  only  when  we  are 
set  to  examine  our  own  bodily  reactions  that  we 
notice  them,  but  the  fact  that  we  are  not  explicitly 
aware  of  them  does  not  mean  that  they  are  not 
operative  in  aesthetic  appreciation.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  we  were  constantly  cognizant  of  them  as 
in  the  previous  description,  we  should  lose  much  if 
not  all  of  our  joy  in  beauty .^ 

1  Op.  cit.,  p.  186. 

*  The  muscles  of  most  individuals  are  stronger  on  one  side  of  the  body 
than  the  other,  according  as  they  are  right  or  left  handed.  That  being  the 
case,  it  might  be  suggested  that  if  the  theory  of  balance  depended  upon  the 
empathic  response  then  the  right-handed  individuals  would  desire  the  heavier 
factors  on  the  right  side,  and  vice  versa.  Experiments  have  been  made  to 
determine  whether  there  is  a  difference  in  preference  between  right-  and  left- 
handed  individuals.  Some  indications  of  such  differences  have  been  found, 
but  the  results  are  not  conclusive.  Why  should  such  inequality  of  strength, 
however,  influence  the  aesthetic  judgment  of  the  individual?  If  he  is  weaker 
on  one  side,  he  has  become  accustomed  to  make  a  greater  effort  on  that  side 
to  maintain  his  balance. 


«22  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

§  5.  Balance  about  the  Horizontal  Axis. 

The  balance  about  the  horizontal  axis  is  not  the 
same  as  that  about  the  perpendicular.  While  in  the 
latter,  we  desire  an  equal  distribution  of  "  weight " 
to  the  right  and  left,  in  the  former,  we  must  have 
more  "weight,"  more  suggestion  for  response  in 
the  lower  half  of  the  picture  than  in  the  upper.  In 
general  the  larger  objects  and  the  heavier  colors 
are  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  composition.  A 
design  in  the  form  of  an  inverted  pyramid  would 
be  unpleasant  unless  further  elaboration  of  the 
composition  made  it  clear  that  the  pyramid  was 
supported  in  its  position.  Exceptions  can  be  found 
to  this  simple  rule  of  perpendicular  balance,  but 
some  compensating  factors  are  then  necessarily 
present.  For  instance,  there  may  be  floating  clouds 
or  a  flock  of  birds  at  the  top  of  the  picture,  with 
little  weight  at  the  bottom.  The  fact,  however, 
that  the  clouds  are  floating,  that  the  birds  are  fly- 
ing, arouses  in  us  the  sense  of  their  being  supported, 
and  inhibits  the  downward  thrust  of  weight.^  Ar- 
tists have  even  been  able  to  fill  the  top  of  their 
canvas  with  dark  heavy  masses  of  clouds,  which 
grow  lighter  as  they  approach  the  horizon,  but  it 
will  be  noticed  that  the  vault  of  the  heavens  with 
its  idea  of  support  has  been  cleverly  represented  by 
the  subtle  gradation  in  the  intensity  of  the  colors. 
The  clouds  then  become  a  roof  and  one  feels  the 
architectural  aspect  of  the  composition. 

*  See  Kate  Gordon,   JEsthetics,  p.  189. 


BALANCE  ABOUT  HORIZONTAL  AXIS    223 

Regarding  perpendicular  balance,  Dr.  Edgar 
Pierce  has  written:  "The  bottom  was  always  of  a 
different  value  from  the  top,  and  symmetry  evi- 
dently played  a  very  subordinate  part.  The  prin- 
ciple here  seems  to  be  that  of  stability;  the  dis- 
tances between  the  lines  here  suggests  the  idea  of 
masses,  and  the  effect  must  be  stable,  and  not  seem 
as  if  it  were  going  to  topple  over."  ^  The  only  ob- 
jection to  this  statement  is  in  the  suggestion  that 
there  is  a  fundamentally  different  principle  here 
from  that  operative  in  horizontal  balance.  Cer- 
tainly stability  is  the  quality  that  is  desired  in  the 
perpendicular  arrangement  of  masses,  but  it  is  also 
the  underlying  principle  in  horizontal  balance.  The 
difference  lies  in  the  manner  in  which  it  is  attained; 
in  a  word,  whether  it  is  by  the  horizontal  or  the 
perpendicular  distribution  of  the  elements  of  the 
composition.  In  the  last  analysis  it  is  the  stability 
of  the  organism  which  must  be  considered,  since 
that  is  one  of  the  essentials  to  the  unity  of  the  per- 
ception and  the  beauty  of  the  object. 

There  is  an  optical  illusion  that  should  be  men- 
tioned in  this  connection,  for  it  greatly  aids  the 
perpendicular  balance.  If  one  is  asked  to  bisect  a 
perpendicular  line  without  measuring  it,  one  al- 
most invariably  places  the  mark  too  high.  If  a 
line  is  actually  bisected,  it  is  with  diflSculty  that 
one  can  convince  oneself  that  the  upper  half  is  not 
longer  than  the  lower  half.  If,  therefore,  in  design 
we  place  similar  objects  below  and  above  the  exact 

*  ^Esthetics  of  Simple  Form,  p.  487. 


224  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

middle  in  a  desire  for  perpendicular  symmetry, 
there  will  seem  to  be  a  greater  concentration  in  the 
lower  half,  and  thus  greater  stability,  for  there 
will  be  the  same  number  of  objects  in  a  seemingly 
smaller  space.  The  generally  accepted  explanation 
for  this  illusion  is  that  there  is  an  increasing  strain 
in  the  eye  muscles  in  looking  toward  the  top  of  the 
picture.  This  increase  in  effort  is  perceived  as  an 
increase  in  distance  traveled,  if  one  is  concerned 
with  the  subjective  aspect  of  the  eye  movement, 
or  in  increased  size  of  the  object,  if  the  sensations 
from  the  eye  are  unconsciously  fused  with  the  per- 
ception of  the  object. 

§  6.  The  Golden  Section 

In  the  horizontal  balance  we  have  seen  that  it 
is  not  necessary  to  place  the  dividing  line  exactly 
in  the  middle,  so  long  as  the  balance  is  maintained. 
It  has,  therefore,  been  a  problem  of  aesthetics  to 
determine  just  where  the  division  should  be  made 
in  order  to  have  the  most  pleasing  effect  for  the 
majority  of  individuals.  That  bisection,  while  not 
unpleasant,  does  not  entirely  satisfy  most  ob- 
servers, will  be  generally  admitted.  The  division 
which  has  caused  the  most  discussion  is  known 
as  the  "golden  section,"  which  is  the  proportion 
wherein  the  smaller  section  bears  the  same  relation 
to  the  larger  section  that  the  larger  does  to  the 
whole  line.  Roughly  speaking,  it  is  a  proportion 
of  5:8::8:13.  In  a  line  thirteen  inches  in  length, 
the  golden  section  would  be  approximately  five 


THE  GOLDEN  SECTION  225 

inches  from  one  end.  Zeising  found  this  ratio 
pleasing  because  it  expressed  a  harmonious  unity 
in  multipHcity.^ 

Theodor  Fechner  ^  discussed  this  proportion  at 
some  length  and  although  he  agreed  that  it  was 
pleasant,  he  criticised  Zeising's  ^  wide  application 
of  the  principle  to  the  human  figure,  the  leaves  of 
plants,  the  forms  of  crystal,  the  arrangements  of  the 
planets,  the  proportions  in  architecture  and  statu- 
ary, and  the  relations  of  musical  tones.  Later,  he 
made  the  experiment  of  presenting  parallelograms 
of  equal  areas  but  different  proportions,  including 
the  square  and  the  proportion  of  the  golden  section, 
to  over  three  hundred  and  fifty  men  and  women, 
and  he  found  that  about  thirty-five  per  cent  of 
them  chose  the  golden  section,  which  was  the  high- 
est percentage  of  any  figure.  The  proportions  that 
were  closest  to  the  golden  section  had  the  next 
highest  percentage.^  These  experiments  have  a 
very  important  historical  value  in  that  they  mark 
the  first  attempt  to  discover  aesthetic  principles  by 
means  of  scientifically  controlled  experimental 
methods.  Mention  of  the  pleasing  effect  of  this 
division  has  been  made  in  most  books  upon  psy- 
chology and  aesthetics.  Further  experiments  were 
conducted  by  other  investigators  to  determine  the 
validity  of  Fechner's  results,  and  it  was  found 

^ /Esthetische  Forschungen,  1855,  p.  172;  also  Neue  Lehre  von  den  Pro- 
portionen  des  Menschlichen  Korpers,  1854,  pp.  146-147. 

*  Zur  Experimentcden  Msthelik,  pp.  567-568. 

*  Das  Normcdverhaltniss  der  Chemischen  und  Morpkologischen  Proportionen. 

*  Vorschule  der  ^sthetik,  pp.  194  et  seq. 


«26  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

that  the  golden  section  was  not  chosen  in  the  ma- 
jority of  cases.  ^  That  the  average  of  the  judgments 
came  near  the  golden  section  has  no  bearing  upon 
the  question,  as  Professor  Angier  rightly  stated, 
for  that  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  if  green  is 
chosen  by  some  and  blue  by  others,  then  green- 
blue  is  the  most  pleasing  color.^  What  the  experi- 
ments did  substantiate,  however,  was  the  general 
tendency  to  choose  some  definite  asymmetrical  di- 
vision, and  the  fact  that  the  exact  location  differed 
among  the  individuals  tested,  although  very  few 
disliked  the  golden  section,  and  most  preferred  a  di- 
vision which  approximates  it,  so  that  Professor 
Witmer  is,  therefore,  correct  in  his  statement  that 
"It  seems  to  be  true  that  the  development  of 
taste  leads  to  a  preference  of  proportion  to  symme- 
try, .  .  .  But  the  cause  of  this  is  not  the  demand 
for  an  equality  of  ratios,  but  a  demand  merely  for 
greater  variety.  Symmetrical  figures  are  divided 
into  parts  monotonously  alike;  proportional  fig- 
ures have  their  parts  unlike.  The  amount  of  un- 
likeness  or  variety  that  is  pleasing  will  depend  upon 
the  general  character  of  the  object,  and  upon  the 
individual's  grade  of  intelligence  and  aesthetic 
taste.  The  ratio  of  *  proportion'  is  not  fixed  as  is 
that  of  symmetry.  It  is  only  as  a  very  rough  ap- 
proximation that  the  ratio  of  3:5  can  be  said  to 

^  See  Lightner  Witmer,  "Ziir  Experimentalen  ^sthetik  Einfacher  R^um- 
licher  Form  Verhaltnisse,"  Phil.  Studien,  1893,  Vol.  IX;  and  R.  P.  Angier, 
The  JEsthetics  of  Uneqiud  Divmon. 

*  See  Valentine,  Experimental  Psychology  of  Beauty,  p.  55. 


THE  GOLDEN  SECTION  227 

represent  the  most  pleasing  mean  between  a  too 
great  inequality  or  variety  and  a  too  great  equal- 
ity or  sameness.*'  ^  Almost  all  writers  have  agreed 
that  there  is  a  desire  for  greater  variety  than  is 
presented  by  symmetry,  but  those  who  have  up- 
held the  golden  section  as  a  canon  of  art  cannot 
admit  an  approximation  for  they  are  for  the  most 
part  influenced  by  the  Pythagorean  delight  in  the 
mathematical  relation  and  unless  the  relation  is  an 
exact  one,  it  can  have  no  meaning  for  them.  Zeis- 
ing  2  is  a  typical  example.  He  is  particularly  in- 
terested in  the  fact  that  in  the  golden  section  the 
relation  between  the  whole  and  its  parts  is  the 
same  relation  as  that  between  the  parts  themselves. 
In  this  ratio,  therefore,  we  are  made  aware  of 
unity  in  the  midst  of  difference.  The  whole  is  not  a 
"dead  sum"  of  equal  parts  but  a  "living  product" 
of  two  unequal  factors,  and  it  is  this  union  of  these 
unequal  factors  which  is  the  source  of  the  beauty 
of  the  golden  section. 

This  pleasure  in  purely  abstract  numerical  rela- 
tions has  been  one  of  the  incentives  for  seeking 
standard  proportions  in  art  forms,  such  as  the 
relations  which  Mr.  J.  Hambidge  ^  has  found  to  be 
fundamental  in  classic  art.  Such  proportions  are 
interesting  to  the  student  of  the  history  of  art,  and 
perhaps  of  practical  value  in  design  and  architec- 
ture, but  the  sesthetician  gains  very  little  from  a 

^  Ardytical  Psychology,  p.  74. 

^  Neue  Lehre  von  den  Proportionen  des  Menchlichen  Korpers,  p.  154. 

'  Dynamic  Symmetry,  A  Series  of  Practice  Diagrams  with  Text. 


228  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

knowledge  of  these  relations.  That  we  have  grown 
accustomed  to  these  particular  proportions  in  na- 
ture is  not  a  sufficient  exJ)lanation  for  their  use, 
since  these  are  only  a  few  out  of  the  infinite  number 
of  such  relations,  nor  are  we  aware  even  subcon- 
sciously of  these  numerical  proportions.  What 
naive  observer,  for  instance,  in  viewing  a  line  di- 
vided according  to  the  golden  section,  has  sufficient 
clue  to  the  relation  of  the  parts  to  the  whole  line 
that,  as  has  been  maintained,  "The  mental  transfer 
from  attention  to  the  whole  line  to  attention  to  the 
greater  part,  prepares  us  for  the  further  transition 
to  the  smaller  part,  because  the  step  is  proportion- 
ally the  same"?  ^  In  order  to  justify  such  a  theory- 
it  is  necessary  to  resort  to  the  hypothesis  of  un- 
conscious counting,  which  is,  to  say  the  least, 
highly  problematical. 

It  is  more  than  likely  that  the  proportions 
found  by  Mr.  Hambidge  were  used  by  the  Greeks 
partly  because  of  the  pleasure  in  the  logical  devel- 
opment of  one  form  from  another,  and  partly  be- 
cause of  the  ease  with  which  these  forms  could  be 
constructed. 

§  7.  Preference  for  Asymmetrical  Balance 

Though  the  importance  of  these  proportions 
must  be  admitted,  there  is  little  satisfaction  for  the 
sesthetician  in  the  knowledge  that  the  corner  col- 
umn of  the  Parthenon  was  placed  in  a  particular 
division  of  the  total  surface.    What  we  desire  to 

^  Valentine,  op.  cit.,  p.  54. 


ASYMMETRICAL  BALANCE  229 

know  is  why  it  was  placed  in  that  division  rather 
than  another.  In  other  words,  what  sesthetic 
"feehng"  prompted  the  Greeks  to  place  it  just 
where  they  did?  It  is  not  then  a  possibly  definite 
ratio  that  seems  important,  but  the  reason  why  an 
asymmetrical  division  of  a  simple  line  or  the  rela- 
tion of  two  lines  or  surfaces  in  a  ratio  other  than 
that  of  1 :1  should  be  pleasing  at  all.^ 

The  experiments  of  Professor  Angier  have  shown 
that  the  same  balance  of  motor  impulses  is  obtained 
in  perceiving  a  pleasant  division  of  a  simple  line 
that  occurrs  when  there  is  direct  suggestion  of 
weight  or  movement:  *'.  .  .  the  center  of  interest 
is  the  division  point,  whence  eye-movements,  or 
innervations  involving,  perhaps,  the  whole  motor 
system,  are  made  to  either  side  .  .  .  the  long  sec- 
tion of  the  line  gives  a  free  sweep  of  the  eyes  from 
the  division  point,  the  center,  to  the  end;  or  again, 
a  free  innervation  of  the  motor  system  .  .  .  then, 
with  that  as  standard,  the  aesthetic  impulse  is  to  se- 
cure an  equal  and  similar  movement,  from  the  cen- 
ter, in  the  opposite  direction."  ^  Such  a  descrip- 
tion must  be  considered  an  account  of  the  manner 
in  which  the  total  experience  has  influenced  the 
perception  and  not  of  what  goes  on  consciously  in 
the  mind  whenever  we  have  the  impression  of  the 
pleasantness  of  such  a  division.  That  is,  through 
such  an  experience  as  is  described  by  Professor 

^  Probably  the  most  important  of  Mr.  Hambidge's  contributions  is  his 
emphasis  of  the  relations  of  surfaces  rather  than  lines. 
?  The  Esthetics  of  Unequal  Division,  pp.  559-560 


230  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

Angier,  the  organism  assumes  a  definite  set  or  form 
of  reaction,  which  becomes  entirely  spontaneous. 

What  the  reactions  are  which  underHe  our  pleas- 
ure in  certain  proportions  represented  in  figures 
such  as  the  rectangle,  is  less  obvious  than  in  simple 
line  division,  but  it  is  probable  that  similar  factors 
of  muscular  balance  are  operative.  It  is  true, 
however,  that  when  we  look  at  such  a  figure  our 
pleasure  seems  immediate  and  we  would  deny  that 
there  is  any  conscious  comparison  of  the  height 
with  the  breadth.  We  seem  to  feel  an  instinctive 
liking  for  the  figure.  In  the  line  division,  we  usu- 
ally have  to  estimate  and  compare  the  length  of 
the  two  sections  before  we  come  to  a  decision,  but 
in  the  proportion  of  figures  there  is  seldom  evidence 
of  such  a  process.  Nevertheless,  we  do  perceive 
the  sides  of  a  figure  even  if  we  are  unaware  of  a 
comparison,  and  from  what  psychology  teaches  us 
of  such  a  situation,  it  seems  very  possible  that  an 
imconscious  motor  adjustment  is  initiated  by  the 
lines,  a  definite  and  as  a  rule  spontaneous  set  which 
has  as  its  basis  a  balance  of  impulses.  A  certain 
proof  of  the  validity  of  this  assumption  seems  to 
lie  in  the  fact  that  when  we  are  uncertain  whether 
or  not  we  like  the  proportion,  we  move  our  eyes 
up  and  down  and  across  the  surface. 

More  convincing  than  laboratory  experiments 
is  the  fact  that  an  asymmetrical  balance,  especially 
one  which  approximates  the  golden  section,  is  ad- 
mitted by  most  artists  to  be  in  general,  a  desirable 
proportion.     One  famous  modern  portraitist  has 


ASYMMETRICAL  BALANCE  231 

even  had  a  pocket  instrument  made  to  enable  him 
readily  to  identify  the  golden  section.  Some  have 
expected  to  find  that  exact  golden  section  ratio  in 
all  pleasing  proportions,  but  this  has  not  been 
verified.  There  is  indeed  a  great  danger  in  such 
matters  of  finding  what  one  desires.^  If,  however, 
we  examine  pictures  which  are  usually  considered 
pleasing,  we  shall  notice  that  if  the  main  figure  is 
not  in  the  center  it  is  usually  very  close  to  the  divid- 
ing point  of  the  golden  section.  One  hesitates  to 
generalize,  but  it  is  probable  that  we  shall  find  this 
to  be  the  case  in  the  majority  of  the  compositions 
of  to-day  and  in  many  of  those  of  the  old  masters 
which  have  asymmetrical  proportions,  as  for  ex- 
ample, the  portrait  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli  (Fig.  27) 
and  the  portrait  by  Velasquez  (Fig.  69).  In  the 
Madonna  groups,  tradition  has  for  the  most  part 

^  How  arbitrary  such  measurements  are  has  been  shown  by  Fechner  in 
his  Zur  Experimentalen  ^sthetik,  pp.  572-575,  and  as  every  age  seems  to 
produce  at  least  one  disciple  of  Pythagoras  it  appears  in  place  to  summarize 
Fechner's  remarks:  An  investigator  by  the  name  of  Wolfe  thought  that  the 
ratio  of  1:1  could  be  shown  to  be  a  fundamental  relation.  He  attempted  to 
prove  that  this  relation  holds  between  the  distance  separating  the  Greek 
columns  and  their  height.  If  he  did  not  find  it  between  every  second  column, 
he  found  it  between  every  third,  and  if  the  proportion  was  not  obtained  by 
taking  the  distance  from  the  middle  of  the  column,  then  it  was  calculated 
from  the  middle  of  one  column  to  the  edge  of  the  other,  and  if  there  was  still 
a  discrepancy  then  he  added  the  height  of  the  entablature  to  the  pillar.  He 
found  that  the  human  body  was  divided  into  two  equal  parts  by  placing  the 
line  at  the  junction  of  leg  and  thigh.  Zeising  by  placing  the  dividing  line 
at  the  navel,  obtained  his  golden  section  proportion.  Wolfe  found  that  the 
head  was  divided  into  two  equal  parts  by  the  horizontal  line  at  the  comer  of 
the  eyes,  while  Zeising  found  that  the  line  from  the  top  of  the  head  to  the 
middle  of  the  neck  was  divided  at  the  eyebrows,  according  to  the  golden 
section. 


232  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

prescribed  that  the  main  figure  shall  be  in  the 
center.  In  fact,  this  is  true  in  most  of  the  religious 
pictures  which  have  been  mentioned,  although  the 
two  halves  are  not  symmetrical  in  design.  Pleas- 
ing exceptions,  however,  may  be  observed,  as  in 
the  Descent  from  the  Cross  by  Bartholommeo, 
(Fig.  55  )  and  the  Visitation  by  Albertinelli 
(Fig.  50),  where  the  chief  point  of  interest  is  very 
close  to  the  golden  section. 

In  the  development  of  architecture  from  the 
regular  form  of  the  Greek  Cross  to  the  form  of  the 
Gothic  Cathedral,  where  the  transept  divides  the 
nave  from  the  choir  close  to  the  golden  section, 
one  can  clearly  see  the  desire  for  asymmetry.  Pro- 
fessor Witmer  has  pointed  out  a  similar  change  in 
the  shape  of  the  cross:  *'The  cross  was  originally 
T-shaped,  or  had  the  cross-bar  very  high  up  on  the 
vertical.  In  early  forms  of  the  cross  .  .  .  the  cross- 
bar has  a  higher  position  than  it  occupies  ...  on 
an  ecclesiastical  cross  of  the  fifteenth  century.  As 
the  historic  symbol  was  adapted  for  church  and 
personal  ornament,  the  cross-bar  dropped  down  in 
the  course  of  centuries  to  satisfy  an  aesthetic  de- 
mand for  proportion  in  the  vertical  line."  ^  The 
last  statement  is  important  in  that  it  calls  attention 
to  the  fact  that  such  a  change  can  occur  from 
purely  aesthetic  reasons  without  any  evident  prac- 
tical purpose,  merely,  as  we  should  say,  because  the 
organism  has  found  it  more  pleasant  to  adjust 
itself  to  such  a  form. 

^  Analytical  Psychology  p.  74. 


THE  MOST  PLEASING  PROPORTIONS    233 

§  8.  The  Most  Pleasing  Proportions 

For  most  of  the  investigators  of  proportion, 
the  motive  has  been  to  find  the  most  *' perfect" 
relation,  and  many  have  gone  so  far  as  to  prescribe 
such  a  proportion  as  the  golden  section  for  all  ob- 
jects that  claim  the  attribute  of  beauty,  but  as  was 
stated  in  a  previous  chapter,  aesthetics  cannot  lay 
down  fixed  rules  which  must  be  followed  under  all 
circumstances.  The  most  that  can  be  said  is  that 
a  given  proportion  will  generally  be  found  to  be 
pleasing,  but  whether  it  should  be  used  depends 
entirely  upon  the  content  which  is  to  be  expressed, 
or  the  quality  of  the  emotion  that  is  to  be  aroused. 
It  may  be  a  pleasing  proportion  for  the  frame  of  a 
picture  or  the  shape  of  a  house,  but  it  would  be 
truly  absurd  to  demand  that  all  frames  and  all 
houses  should  have  such  proportions.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  the  proportions  of  the  human  figure. 
Throughout  the  ages,  artists  and  sestheticians  have 
been  eager  to  find  the  perfect  male  and  female 
figures,  and  because  the  Greek  statues  have  re- 
ceived unusual  favor,  their  proportions  were  care- 
fully studied  and  frequently  the  relation  of  the 
golden  section  or  some  other  more  or  less  constant 
relation  has  been  found. 

It  seems  more  to  the  point,  however,  as  an  ex- 
planation of  their  beauty,  that  they  express  by 
their  lines  perfect  health  and  strength,  the  two 
qualities  of  the  human  form  most  desired  by  the 
race.    We  judge  that  they  do  express  these  attri- 


234  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

butes  from  the  facts  of  our  own  experience.  They 
are  not  too  stout  or  too  thin,  too  weak  or  too  highly 
developed  muscularly;  that  is,  they  do  not  show 
extremes,  a  fact  which  has  led  to  the  theory  that 
they  are  pleasing  because  they  represent  the 
*'mean"  or  the  type.  This  may  be  true,  but  why 
should  the  type  in  itself  be  pleasing.?  Surely  not 
because  it  represents  the  general  idea  of  man,  as 
some  idealistic  philosophers  would  have  us  believe, 
but  because  we  know  (and  this,  again,  from  ex- 
perience) that  such  a  type  is  the  best  equipped  for 
all-round  adaptation  to  the  environment.  That  is 
what  is  most  frequently  desired,  and  when  we  em- 
pathize in  such  a  form,  we  have  the  pleasure  of 
feeling  that  that  is  true.  The  proportion  carries 
out  this  idea,  and  in  the  talent  of  the  artist  in  thus 
unifying  this  form  of  expression  with  his  idea,  lies 
the  essence  of  the  beauty  of  his  work.  But  though 
this  idea  may  be  pleasing  to  most  persons,  it  is  not 
the  only  one  sought  in  the  human  form,  as  any 
superficial  study  of  art  development  reveals.  Dii- 
rer  spent  years  in  the  search  for  the  ideal  female 
form,  and  his  women  for  the  most  part  express  the 
idea  of  fecundity.  In  Rubens'  women,  we  find  the 
acme  of  corpulence  and  indolence,  with  the  asso- 
ciated ideas  of  rich  food,  a  comfortable  menage, 
and  a  full  purse.  Botticelli's  women  on  the  other 
hand,  are  tall  and  thin — qualities  suggestive  of 
lightness  and  spirituality,  as  are  also  El  Greco's 
men  to  an  exaggerated  degree.  The  artists  were 
at  the  time  possessed  of  a  certain  idea  and  had  to 


THE  MOST  PLEASING  PROPORTIONS    235 

express  it.  We  may  not  share  their  ideals,  but  we 
can  nevertheless  enjoy  the  perfection  with  which 
they  express  them  in  their  proportions,  as  well  as 
in  their  lines  and  colors. 

Similar  changes  of  proportion  to  suit  a  prevailing 
idea  may  be  seen  in  styles  of  clothing.  There  is 
the  age  of  the  hoop-skirt  where  the  movements  of 
the  limbs  are  concealed,  and  the  age  of  the  hobble- 
skirt  with  its  slimness  of  figure  and  restriction  of 
movement.  One  year  the  coats  of  men's  attire 
have  broad  shoulders  and  narrow  waists  indicative 
of  the  athlete.  The  next  year,  narrow  shoulders 
and  straight  lines  suggest  the  more  intellectual  and 
aesthetic  type.  The  change  is  in  general  due  to  our 
dislike  of  monotony  and  to  the  financial  considera- 
tions of  the  tailor.  The  ideas  expressed  follow 
sometimes  from  national  conditions  such  as  war, 
or  renewed  interest  in  athletics  or  art;  more  fre- 
quently, as  it  would  seem,  they  are  due  to  whimsies 
of  the  trade.  But,  whatever  may  be  the  cause,  we 
soon  through  suggestion  accept  the  ideas  which 
underlie  the  form  of  expression,  and  find  the  latter 
pleasing  in  its  proportions  unless  we  are  able  suf- 
ficiently to  free  ourselves  from  the  prevailing  idea 
and  view  the  situation  in  the  abstract.  We  are 
then  struck  with  such  absurdities  as  a  two-foot 
feather  in  the  hat  of  the  small  woman  to  give  her 
height,  or  as  the  shoulders  of  the  thin  young  man 
padded  some  inches  beyond  his  body  to  give  him 
a  muscular  appearance. 

That  we  must  consider  the  effect  desired  in  de- 


236  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

termining  the  proportions  to  be  used  is  readily  seen 
in  architecture.  Although  the  square  form  is  al- 
most always  disagreeable,  and  the  golden  section 
a  safe  venture,  the  latter  gives  a  spaciousness  to 
the  idea  of  the  house  as  a  whole  or  to  the  separate 
rooms,  which  may  be  out  of  keeping  with  the  tem- 
perament of  the  tenant.  A  low  ceiling,  or  long  and 
narrow  room,  while  usually  oppressively  contract- 
ing arid  restricting,  expresses  for  some  persons  a 
certain  coziness,  or  if  similar  proportions  are  used 
in  the  exterior  outline  of  the  house,  there  is,  perhaps, 
a  blending  with  the  surrounding  scenery,  which  is  for 
some  highly  desirable.  If  we  jfind  the  proportions  of 
our  dwellings  entirely  satisfactory,  it  is  because  they 
are  in  harmony  with  our  predominating  modes  of 
response,  or  what  is  the  same  thing  in  other  terms, 
because  the  proportions  express  our  personality. 

§  9.  Explanation  of  the  Preference  for  Asym- 
metrical Balance 

The  final  problem  which  remains  to  be  solved  is 
that  seeming  preference  for  asymmetrical  balance, 
which  was  described  at  the  beginning  of  the  chap- 
ter. Even  though  such  preference  is  not  universal, 
there  is  still  the  question  why  any  one  should 
choose  asymmetry  when  symmetrical  arrangement 
offers  the  easiest  guide  to  motor  balance  of  the 
organism.  The  usual  answer  is  that  the  mind  de- 
sires variety.  Most  observers  find  it  uninteresting 
to  unify  a  work  of  art  by  merely  balancing  off 
against  each  other  two  opposite  and  nearly  iden- 


PREFERENCE  FOR  ASYMMETRY       237 

tical  halves.  It  is  like  perceiving  the  repetition 
of  the  same  object — we  soon  become  adjusted  to 
it  and  the  continued  repetition  not  only  eventually 
robs  it  of  all  interest  for  us,  but  also  robs  it  of  its 
meaning,  as,  for  example,  the  repetition  of  the  same 
word  until  it  becomes  mere  sound.  If,  for  any  rea- 
son, we  are  compelled  long  to  endure  such  a  monot- 
onous repetition  of  sound,  we  become  painfully 
disturbed;  the  entire  organism  seems  to  rebel.  Dr. 
Santayana  has  written :  "  The  tendency  of  monotony 
is  double,  and  in  two  directions  deadens  our  pleas- 
ure. When  the  repeated  impressions  are  acute, 
and  cannot  be  forgotten  in  their  endless  repetition, 
their  monotony  becomes  painful.  The  constant 
appeal  to  the  same  sense,  the  constant  requirement 
of  the  same  reaction,  tires  the  system,  and  we  long 
for  change  as  for  a  relief.  If  the  repeated  stimula- 
tions are  not  very  acute,  we  soon  become  uncon- 
scious of  them;  like  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  they 
become  merely  a  factor  in  our  bodily  tone,  a  cause, 
as  the  case  may  be,  of  a  diffused  pleasure  or  unrest; 
but  they  cease  to  present  a  distinguishable  ob- 
ject." 1  To  a  certain  degree  our  interest  increases 
with  increased  difficulty  of  adjustment.  As  soon 
as  our  adaptation  is  perfected  we  seek  a  new  one. 
There  is  a  demand  for  activity,  an  ever-increasing 
activity.  New  problems  are  sought,  new  difficul- 
ties of  balance  desired.  It  is  the  same  principle 
that  w^e  found  in  imagination  and  the  unity  of  het- 
erogeneous parts.    It  is  true  that  to  explain  a  de- 

1  The  Sense  of  Beauty,  pp.  106-107. 


238  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

sire  for  change  by  the  demand  for  greater  activity 
does  not  tell  us  why  we  have  such  a  desire.  A  pos- 
sible explanation  of  this  is  found  in  the  necessity 
of  adjusting  ourselves  to  an  environment  that 
would  otherwise  overwhelm  us.  We  learn  by  ex- 
perience that  we  are  surrounded  by  objects  of  in- 
creasing complexity.  We  also  learn  that  it  is 
necessary  to  perfect  our  modes  of  response  to  them 
not  only  for  the  present  but  for  future  situations. 
The  simpler  adjustments  are  naturally  first  made, 
and  then  by  necessity  we  are  urged  to  more  com- 
plex ones.  Pleasure  is  aroused  by  the  results  and 
the  process  of  adjustment  soon  becomes  a  pleasure 
in  itself  and  is  welcomed  in  art  as  well  as  in  the 
more  practical  fields  of  man's  endeavor.  This  op- 
portunity that  art  gives  for  a  more  perfect  adjust- 
ment of  balance  is  another  proof  of  the  benefit 
that  we  derive  from  the  experience  of  beauty. 

Such  an  explanation  of  the  desire  for  asymmetry 
is  speculative,  but  it  has  a  certain  basis  in  the  gen- 
eral development  of  balance  from  the  simple  to 
the  complex.  Just  how  much  asymmetry  is  found 
to  be  pleasing,  that  is  in  itself  and  divorced  from 
content,  depends  upon  the  organism  and  its  ex- 
perience. A  line  which  is  bisected  very  near  the 
center  is  generally  considered  unpleasant  because 
it  seems  like  a  slight  error  in  the  attempt  to  obtain 
symmetry.  The  desire  for  a  proportion  approx- 
imating the  golden  section  is  probably  due  to  the 
fact  that  although  we  desire  multiplicity,  that 
which  the  golden  section  offers  taxes  the  adjust- 


PREFERENCE  FOR  ASYMMETRY       239 


ment  of  the  ordinary  organism  to  its  limit;  although 
there  are  those  who  delight  in  going  beyond  this 
division  almost  to  the  end  of  the  line. 

An  interesting  develop- 
ment is  taking  place  at 
present  in  the  art  educa- 
tion of  children.  Not  only 
is  much  attention  being 
given  to  color  and  line,  but 
also  to  balance.  Since  chil- 
dren when  left  to  them- 
selves generally  begin  with 
symmetry  it  was  formerly 
thought  that  they  could 
understand  only  this  form 
of  design,  so  that  they 
were  given  stupidly  sym- 
metrical forms  instead  of 
being  introduced  as  soon 
as  possible  to  easy  prob- 
lems of  asymmetry.  Fig- 
m*e  70  is  a  delightful  ex- 
ample of  the  sort  of  design 
that  children  are  now  be- 
ing asked  to  copy.^  In  all 
but  one  respect  it  is  sym- 
metrical but  the  child  is 
shown  that  entire  symme- 
try is  not  necessary;  on  the  contrary,  that  a  more 


Fia.70 

Reproduced  by  permission  of 
Atkinson,  Mentzer  &  Com- 
pany, from  the  Industrial 
and  Applied  Art  Books. 


^  Industrial  and  Applied  Art  Books,  edited  by  £.  £.  and  F.  R.  Bush, 
Book  IV,  p.  7. 


240  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

pleasing  or  subtle  effect  is  obtained  if  there  is 
slight  variation.  One  of  the  birds  is  larger  than 
the  other  and  higher  in  the  picture,  but  as  it  is 
floating  in  the  air,  we  feel  a  certain  lightness  so 
that  its  actually  greater  weight  is  nicely  balanced 
by  the  smaller  bird  seated  on  the  fountain.  The 
balance  is  so  cleverly  obtained  that  we  shall  prob- 
ably not  notice  at  first  glance  that  there  is  not  per- 
fect symmetry,  although  we  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  the  arrangement.  Still  more  asymmetrical  de- 
signs can  be  presented  at  successive  stages  until 
the  child  learns  all  the  possibilities  of  balance 
and  is  able  to  feel  and  imitate  the  different 
effects. 

What  has  been  said  concerning  balance  and  sym- 
metry in  the  visual  arts,  may  be  applied  also  to  the 
other  fields.  If  we  admit  the  underlying  balance 
of  organic  processes,  it  is  not  by  way  of  mere  anal- 
ogy that  we  speak  of  the  balance  in  literary  pro- 
ductions and  in  the  drama.  Frequent  mention  has 
been  made  in  aesthetic  studies  of  the  balance  in  the 
various  scenes  of  the  drama,  that  is,  the  opposition 
of  conflicting  forces  that  is  continually  presented 
as  a  play  develops.  But  there  is  a  more  fundamen- 
tal balance  than  this  constant  swing  of  the  pendu- 
lum back  and  forth  in  equalizing  phases,  and  that 
is  the  balance  of  the  play  as  a  whole.  The  plot  is 
slowly  unfolded,  the  dramatic  incidents  gather 
strength,  and  the  strain  of  the  audience  increases 
until  the  crisis  is  reached.  Then  in  a  quick  suc- 
cession of  incidents  the  resolution  is  accomplished. 


PREFERENCE  FOR  ASYMMETRY       241 

Into  the  small  space  of  the  concluding  scene  are 
crowded  a  series  of  emotions  which,  if  the  play  is 
to  be  successful,  should  equal  in  intensity  the  slow 
summation  of  the  responses  to  the  preceding  acts. 
K  there  is  not  this  balance,  the  audience  is  left  un- 
satisfied. No  matter  how  convincing  the  final 
answer  of  the  problem  may  be,  no  matter  how  well 
the  story  itself  may  have  been  brought  to  a  happy 
or  tragic  conclusion,  the  complete  aesthetic  pleas- 
ure will  be  absent  if  the  tensions  induced  before 
the  crisis  are  not  matched  by  an  equal  amount  of 
excitement  in  the  release.  A  lack  of  balance  of  the 
structural  elements  of  the  drama  would  be  as  ir- 
rational as  inconsistency  in  the  plot.  The  audience 
demands  to  know  why  it  has  been  induced  to  labor 
up  to  the  height  of  the  crisis  and  the  only  satisfac- 
tory answer  that  can  be  given  is  in  an  equal  though 
swifter  descent.  Further,  is  it  not  more  than  a 
mere  analogy  that  we  prefer  in  the  dramatic  an 
asymmetrical  balance,  and  that  the  balance  most 
frequently  found  seems  to  approximate  the  pro- 
portions of  the  golden  section  .^^  The  crisis  usually 
lies  approximately  three-fifths  of  the  distance  from 
the  beginning  of  the  play.  We  can  visualize  the 
situation  by  imaging  the  slow  climb  up  the  gradual 
slope  of  a  hill  and  the  quick  descent  on  the  other 
side  to  the  original  level.  How  intolerable  a  sym- 
metrical drama  would  be;  how  impossible  is  even 
the  conception  of  a  play  with  the  crisis  in  the  mid- 
dle, with  equal  slopes  on  either  side.  On  the  other 
hand,  just  as  in  the  division  of  a  line,  under  cer- 


242  BALANCE  AND  PROPORTION 

tain  circumstances,  the  dividing  line  may  be 
placed  near  one  end,  so  the  crisis  can  be  placed 
near  the  close,  if  by  a  tour  de  force  sufficient 
dramatic  tension  is  crowded  into  the  remaining 
moments. 


CHAPTER  X 

ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  BALANCE  FROM  THE 
FINE  ARTS 

A  FEW  illustrations  of  the  various  forms  of  balance 
will  be  given  from  the  pictures  already  used  in  the 
previous  chapters.  Except  in  some  decorative 
designs,  perfect  symmetry  is  seldom  found.  The 
nearest  approach  is  in  those  pictures  where  the 
main  figure  is  in  the  center  with  an  equal  grouping 
on  either  side,  such  as  the  conventional  pictures  of 
the  Madonna  Enthroned;  but  the  figures  them- 
selves are  different  and  the  Child  is  always  held  on 
one  side  of  the  center  and  must  therefore  be  bal- 
anced in  some  way.  For  instance,  Raphael's 
Madonna  of  the  Baldacchino  (Fig.  47)  is  almost 
symmetrical  in  line,  but  the  Child,  being  to  the  left, 
is  balanced  on  the  right  by  the  end  figure,  which 
being  full  face  attracts  more  interest  than  does  the 
figure  on  the  opposite  side.  Again  in  the  Ghirland- 
aio  (Fig.  42)  there  is  a  symmetrical  distribution  of 
figures,  but  as  the  Child  is  to  the  left  of  the  center, 
the  figure  in  the  right  foreground  is  farther  from 
the  center  than  is  its  balancing  figure.  In  his  Ma- 
donna and  Saints  (Fig.  41),  the  balance  is  even  more 
subtly  attained.  The  figures  in  the  foreground 
are  equally  distant  from  the  center,  but  the  Child 


244  BALANCE  IN  THE  FINE  ARTS 

being  on  the  right,  the  downward  thrust  is  em- 
phasized on  the  left  by  the  position  of  the  arm  of 
the  kneehng  figure  on  that  side,  and  the  sword  arm 
of  St.  George.  The  central  point  is  frequently 
marked  by  a  conspicuous  object,  as  in  this  instance, 
the  vase  of  flowers  which  not  only  attracts  atten- 
tion to  the  chief  point  of  interest,  but  also  makes 
the  location  of  the  fulcrum  of  the  balance  clearer 
to  the  observer.  In  Botticelli's  Madonna  and 
Saints  (Fig.  44),  the  child  is  on  the  right  and  St. 
John  stands  farther  from  the  center,  which  is 
marked  by  objects  in  the  foreground,  than  does 
the  other  Saint.  There  is  also  here  the  downward 
thrust  of  the  staff  of  St.  John.  In  the  Madonna, 
Child  and  Angels,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli  (Fig.  12), 
the  more  obvious  method  is  employed  of  placing  the 
Child  and  three  Angels  on  the  left,  and  four  Angels 
and  a  book  on  the  right.  In  Andrea  del  Sarto's 
Madonna  of  the  Harpies  (Fig.  20),  there  are  fewer 
figures  and  any  mistake  in  balance  would  be  more 
surely  felt.  The  Child  is  very  much,  to  the  left,  but 
the  balance  is  well  sustained  by  the  tense  arm  of 
the  Madonna,  and  the  greater  interest  in  the  Saint 
to  the  right,  who  turns  his  full  face  toward  the  spec- 
tators. It  must  be  remembered  also  that  in  all 
these  pictures  the  color  plays  an  important  part. 
In  the  Holy  Family,  by  a  pupil  of  Botticelli 
(Fig.  16),  the  Child  and  two  Angels  are  placed  on  the 
left  and  only  one  Angel  on  the  right,  but  the  latter 
figure  is  larger,  and  there  is  in  addition  the  robe 
of  the  Madonna  and  the  heavy  balustrade.    It  is 


BALANCE  IN  THE  FINE  ARTS  245 

doubtful,  however,  whether  these  factors  well  bal- 
ance the  four  faces  to  the  left,  especially  as  the  in- 
terest is  so  much  greater  on  that  side.  There  is 
here  a  conflict  of  forces  which  is  in  very  sharp  con- 
trast to  Raphael's  Granduca  Madonna  (Fig.  18), 
where  the  Madonna's  head  is  to  the  left  at  about 
the  golden  section,  and  the  Child  to  the  right,  its 
weight  being  further  balanced  by  the  mass  of 
color  in  the  Madonna's  gown.  Although  a  single 
figure  is  seldom  placed  in  the  center  of  the  pic- 
ture we  find  this  done  in  the  David  of  Pollaiuolo 
(Fig.  24) .  He  is,  however,  not  symmetrically  posed, 
for  one  foot  is  behind  the  other,  and  one  arm  bent 
while  the  other  arm  is  almost  straight.  In  the  San 
Sebastian,  ascribed  to  Pollaiuolo  (Fig.  32),  the  post 
is  to  the  right,  and  balances  the  figure  whose  greater 
bulk  is  to  the  left  of  the  central  line.  How  much 
more  artistic  this  is  than  it  would  be  if  the  post  and 
figure  were  grouped  in  the  center.  In  the  Portrait 
of  a  Young  Woman  by  the  artist  called  Amico  di 
Sandro  (Fig.  28),  the  figure  is  also  placed  pleas- 
ingly off  center  to  the  left.  The  perpendicular  axis 
through  the  body  is  almost  exactly  at  the  golden 
section  and  the  balance  is  secured  by  the  white 
mass  on  the  right,  and  the  suggestion  of  vista 
through  the  open  door.  This  latter  factor,  how- 
ever, is  not  very  strong  since  there  are  no  objects 
within  the  vista  to  effect  an  adjustment  in  the 
third  dimension  such  as  may  be  obtained  in  the 
Madonna  and  Child  of  the  Florentine  School,  XV 
Century  (Fig.   14).     Here  the  Child,  a  very  large 


246  BALANCE  IN  THE  FINE  ARTS 

and  robust  infant,  is  placed  very  much  to  one  side 
of  the  center.  Even  the  Madonna's  head  is  inclined 
in  that  direction,  but  the  vista  on  the  right  beyond 
the  column  completely  holds  the  balance.  The 
effect  of  the  vista  is  also  clearly  seen  in  the  left 
side  of  Bordonne's  Doge  and  Fisherman  (Fig.  48), 
where  it  has  to  counterbalance  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  the  interest  and  relatively  greater  weight 
of  the  scene  on  the  right,  and  does  so  very  success- 
fully. In  Ghirlandaio's  Adoration  (Fig.  64),  there 
is  a  very  considerable  sweep  back  into  the  depth  of 
the  picture,  and  its  effect  is  added  to  the  weight  of 
the  main  figures  in  the  foreground  to  balance  the 
hill  and  the  interesting  procession  of  small  figures 
on  the  left;  yet  it  is  a  question  whether  this  vista 
is  not  so  strong  as  to  unbalance  the  picture.  It 
certainly  seems  to  do  so  in  the  left  hand  picture  of 
the  Two  Portraits  in  Flemish  Costume  after  the 
manner  of  Van  der  Goes  (Fig.  33),  where  it  should 
balance  the  large  book  and  the  head  of  the  woman, 
but  although  the  book  would  from  its  size  alone 
suggest  great  weight,  this  effect  is  counteracted  by 
the  lack  of  strain  in  the  hands  and  arms,  as  previ- 
ously described,  so  that  the  picture  seems  to  be 
pulled  toward  the  right. 

An  interesting  balance  is  seen  in  del  Sarto's  An- 
nunciation (Fig.  49),  where  the  fulcrum  is  marked 
by  the  man  in  the  central  background,  and  the 
combined  weight  of  the  large  upright  figure  of  the 
Virgin  and  the  not  too  detailed  architectural  mass 
is  offset  by  the  three  closely  grouped  figures  of  the 


BALANCE  IN  THE  FINE  ARTS  247 

Angels.  The  subtle  balance  achieved  by  del  Sarto 
is  one  of  the  many  factors  which  lend  charm  to  his 
pictures.  Another  example  is  his  Madonna  of  the 
Sack  (Fig.  54),  where  the  Madonna  and  Child  are 
placed  close  to  the  center,  forming  a  heavy  mass, 
which  is  balanced  by  the  figure  of  Joseph  and  a 
heavy  sack  placed  nearer  the  edge.  Bartolom- 
meo,  in  his  Deposition  (Fig.  55),  has  placed  the 
weight  of  three  figures  on  the  left  and  has  success- 
fully counterbalanced  it  by  the  violent  and  almost 
unpleasant  downward  thrust  of  the  bent  figure  on 
the  right.  It  is  due  alone  to  the  exceedingly  strong 
empathic  response  aroused  by  this  figure  that  the 
proper  distribution  of  weight  is  accomplished. 
Still  greater  development  in  the  distribution  of 
masses  is  seen  in  da  Vinci's  St.  Ann,  Virgin  and 
Child  (Fig.  56),  where  a  very  detailed  analysis  of 
lines  and  color  is  necessary  to  understand  the  per- 
fect equilibrium  attained.  The  head  of  St.  Ann» 
the  most  prominent  of  the  three  faces,  is  placed  at 
the  golden  section,  and  the  light  and  shade  and 
direction  of  lines  are  masterfully  distributed  in  re- 
lation to  it.  With  equal  skill  and  ingenuity,  Ra- 
phael has  obtained  a  balance  about  his  central 
point  of  interest  in  both  his  Disputa  (Fig.  39),  and 
Heliodorus  (Fig.  66).  What  in  the  hands  of  a  less 
talented  artist  would  have  been  a  tiresome  ar- 
rangement has  been  made  interesting  for  all  time 
by  the  carefully  thought  out  variation  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  movements  and  the  distribution  of  the 
color  values.    This  is  especially  seen  in  the  Helio- 


248  BALANCE  IN  THE  FINE  ARTS 

dorus  where  the  vigorous  action  of  the  few  figures 
on  the  right  is  balanced  by  the  greater  crowd  on 
the  left.  A  still  more  remarkable  arrangement  is 
that  in  Michael  Angelo's  Creation  of  Man  (Fig.  57) 
where  the  solitary  figure  of  Adam,  in  spite  of  his 
reclining  with  full  weight  on  the  extreme  left, 
could  not  balance  the  great  mass  of  figures  on 
the  right  if  an  impression  of  lightness  were  not 
given  to  the  latter  by  its  moyement  toward  the 
center,  and  by  its  self-buoyancy  as  it  floats  in 
mid-air. 

In  contrast  to  the  perfection  of  these  composi- 
tions is  Ghirlandaio's  Birth  of  the  Virgin  (Fig.  60), 
where,  notwithstanding  the  "weight"  given  by  the 
interest  in  the  scene  on  the  right,  the  great  mass 
of  the  five  upright  figures,  the  column,  the  stairs, 
and  the  interesting  little  scene  of  the  visitation  tip 
the  picture  to  the  left.  Still  greater  weight  must 
have  been  given  to  this  left  side  by  those  who  were 
acquainted  with  the  personages  portrayed.  An 
agreeable  change  is  at  once  noticed  if  one  covers  the 
stairs  at  the  extreme  right;  the  composition  be- 
comes pleasantly  restful. 

Thus  far,  we  have  been  describing  horizontal 
balance.  Three  degrees  of  success  in  perpendicular 
stability  are  exemplified:  In  Botticelli's  Corona- 
tion (Fig.  36),  in  Raphael's  Coronation  (Fig.  37), 
and  in  his  Madonna  of  Foligno  (Fig.  38) .  Botticelli 
has  placed  too  much  weight  in  the  upper  half,  and 
we  feel  the  unpleasant  downward  thrust.  In  the 
first  mentioned  picture  of  Raphael's,  there  is  a 


BALANCE  IN  THE  FINE  ARTS  249 

more  equal  distribution  of  mass  and  the  upper 
figures  are  made  light  by  the  support  of  the  float- 
ing clouds;  but  he  is  still  more  successful  in  the 
Foligno,  where  the  center  of  gravity  is  still  lower 
in  the  picture. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  ART  IMPULSE 

§  1.  Methods  of  Investigation 

There  are  two  methods  of  approach  to  the  inves- 
tigation of  the  origin  and  development  of  the  art 
impulse,  both  of  which  have  been  profitable  in  that 
they  are  supplementary  to  each  other.  The  one 
is  a  study  of  the  development  of  the  impulse  in  the 
individual,  especially  during  the  early  years;  the 
other,  that  of  its  manifestation  in  primitive  peoples. 
Child  study  and  anthropological  investigations  are 
of  equal  importance  as  sources  of  information  rel- 
ative to  the  nature  of  the  activity,  and  probably 
also  in  regard  to  the  general  development  of  aes- 
thetic expression.  In  so  far  as  the  forms  of  the 
manifestation  of  this  activity  are  concerned,  how- 
ever, more  weight  must  be  attached  to  the  results 
obtained  from  anthropological  inquiries,  than  to 
those  from  investigations  among  children  of  cul- 
tured races,  since  such  children  are  surrounded 
from  birth  with  highly  developed  art  forms.  Never- 
theless, conjectures  from  the  productions  of  prim- 
itive peoples,  as  well  as  from  those  of  children, 
must  be  made  with  great  caution.  As  Professor 
Yrjoe  Hirn  has  stated,  *'In  almost  every  case  where 
the  ornaments  of  a  tribe  have  been  closely  ex- 
amined, it  has  appeared  that  what  to  us  seems  a 


METHODS  OF  INVESTIGATION         251 

mere  embellishment  is  for  the  natives  in  question, 
full  of  practical,  non-aesthetic  significance.  Carv- 
ings on  weapons  and  implements,  tattooings, 
woven  and  plaited  patterns,  all  of  which  the  un- 
critical observer  is  apt  to  take  for  purely  artistic 
compositions,  are  now  explained  as  religious  sym- 
bols, owners'  marks,  or  ideograms.  .  .  .  Wher- 
ever ethnologists  have  the  opportunity  of  gaining 
some  insight  into  the  inner  life  of  a  savage  tribe, 
they  are  surprised  at  the  religious  or  magical  sig- 
nificance which  lies  concealed  behind  the  most 
apparently  trivial  of  amusements.  And  it  is  to  be 
remarked  that  they  have  learned  to  appreciate 
this  esoteric  meaning,  not  by  a  closer  study  of  the 
manifestations  themselves,  but  through  informa- 
tion acquired  by  intercourse  with  the  natives."  * 
It  is  especially  important  to  have  this  in  mind  when 
we  come  to  a  discussion  of  the  various  motives 
imderlying  the  art  forms.  Similarly  in  regard  to 
the  productions  of  children,  we  must  not  too  hastily 
presume  a  desire  for  artistic  activity.  If  the  draw- 
ings of  young  children  are  examined,  it  will  be  ob- 
served that  they  almost  invariably  express  more 
than  the  children  see.  That  is,  they  represent  not 
what  the  child  perceives  but  what  he  knows  the 
object  to  be.  Horses  are  depicted  with  the  four 
legs  in  a  row,  carts  with  the  four  wheels  in  full  out- 
line. Faces,  even  in  profile,  will  have  both  eyes 
represented.  These  mistakes  in  drawing  are  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  dominant  motive  is  to  com- 

1  The  Origins  of  AH,  pp.  10-11. 


252  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

municate  information,  namely,  that  the  horse  has 
four  legs,  the  cart  four  wheels,  the  man  two  eyes, 
etc.  A  certain  child,  when  asked  to  draw  a  school- 
house,  outlined  the  fagade  of  the  building  with  a 
door  and  many  windows,  and  placed  on  one  side  of 
the  paper  beside  the  house,  rows  of  children,  desks, 
chairs  and  series  of  the  letters  of  the  alphabet, 
which  objects,  according  to  the  child's  own  account, 
were  included  to  tell  what  happened  at  school.  It 
is  not  always  possible  to  tell  merely  from  the  in- 
spection of  the  drawing  what  was  the  underlying 
motive  for  the  production.  It  is  likewise  fre- 
quently difficult  to  determine  from  such  evidence 
at  exactly  what  period  the  development  of  the  art 
impulse  occurs.  In  making  a  distinction  of  motives, 
therefore,  and  in  ascertaining  the  sequence  in  the 
development  of  artistic  expression,  more  can  be 
gained  from  the  psychological  analysis  of  the  hu- 
man activities  than  merely  from  a  study  of  art 
forms,  although  the  latter  is  at  times  very  helpful. 

§  2.  Criticism  of  Theories  of  the  Art  Impulse 

With  this  introduction,  we  may  proceed  to  the 
criticism  of  some  of  the  theories  concerning  the 
nature  of  the  art  impulse  and  thus  to  a  theory 
consistent  with  the  views  of  the  aesthetic  attitude 
previously  stated.  According  to  Dr.  Marshall, 
"The  *  Art  Impulse'  is  a  blind  impulse  which  leads 
men  to  create  with  little  or  no  notion  of  the  end  they 
have  in  view.  That  this  art  impulse  in  one  form  or 
another  is  a  common  heritage  of  the  members  of 


THEORIES  OF  THE  ART  IMPULSE      253 

our  race  is,  I  think,  true  without  doubt."  ^  Dr. 
Marshall  states  further:  "Nor  can  we  with  Kant 
and  Schiller  hold  that  the  *art  impulse'  is  especially- 
connected  with  the  *play  impulse'  through  lack  of 
end,  if  I  am  right  that  an  end  for  art  work  is  discern- 
ible in  attraction  through  the  pleasing  of  others.*'  ^ 
The  latter  part  of  the  statement  contains  the  es- 
sence of  Dr.  Marshall's  real  view.  The  impulse 
is  not  blind  in  so  far  as  the  true  motive  of  art  is  a 
desire  to  attract  by  pleasing.  We  have  already 
criticised  this  hedonistic  aesthetics  in  connection 
with  Grant  Allen's  views,  on  the  ground  that  we 
are  given  no  means  of  differentiating  various  forms 
of  pleasure.  It  was  previously  shown  (page  35) 
that  Dr.  Marshall  agrees  with  this  criticism.  He 
would  undoubtedly  be  the  last  to  insist  that  every 
form  of  pleasurable  attraction  is  aesthetic,  or  even 
that  an  attraction  in  itself  was  an  essential  charac- 
teristic or  motive  in  aesthetic  creation. 

Professor  Mark  J.  Baldwin,  although  stressing  the 
importance  in  art  production  as  well  as  in  play,  of 
attraction  which,  according  to  his  theory,  involves 
the  self -exhibition  impulse,  is  aware  of  the  danger 
of  such  a  generalization,  for  he  states  that  "the 
theory  .  .  .  which  identifies  the  art  impulse  with 
the  self-exhibiting  impulse,  is  consistently  evolu- 
tionary; but  it  has  failed  to  find,  in  my  view,  that 
the  self -exhibiting  impulses  have  either  the  impor- 
tant function  or  the  degree  of  exercise  which  the 

1  Pain,  Pleasure  and  Msthetios,  pp.  100-101. 
» IWd.,  p.  104. 


254  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

derivation  of  the  art-impulse  from  them  would 
demand."  *  Nevertheless,  psychology  has  shown 
that  the  self -exhibiting  factor  is  an  important  mo- 
tive in  all  human  pursuits.  Whether  it  is  art, 
public  speaking,  teaching,  politics,  or  business, 
man  is  concerned  to  a  greater  or  less  degree  with 
the  exhibition  of  his  ego. 

Almost  all  descriptions  of  the  art  impulse  have 
emphasized  its  non-practical  aspect  and  the  fact 
that  there  does  not  appear  to  be  any  aim  beyond 
the  immediate  activity  itself.  This  seeming  char- 
acteristic has  led  many  authors  to  identify  the  art 
impulse  with  play.  Further  inquiry  has  shown 
that  art  has  a  practical  value  and  aim,  but  the  same 
arguments  may  be  used  in  the  case  of  play,  so  that 
there  is  still  the  possibility  of  an  identification 
between  the  two  impulses  or  instincts,  as  they  are 
frequently  termed. 

§  3.  The  Nature  of  the  Play  Impulse 

Among  the  classical  theories  of  play,  those  of 
Schiller  and  Spencer  have  figured  most  promi- 
nently. Both  authors  based  their  theories  on  the 
excess  or  superabundance  of  energy.  The  passage 
in  which  Schiller  expresses  his  views  most  clearly 
is  the  following:  **No  doubt  nature  has  given  more 
than  is  necessary  to  unreasoning  beings;  she  has 
caused  a  gleam  of  freedom  to  shine  even  in  the  dark- 
ness of  animal  life.    When  the  lion  is  not  tormented 

^  Social  and  Ethical  InterpretalioTU  in  Mental  Dcvelojnnent,  3d  edition, 
p.  161. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PLAY  IMPULSE    ^55 

by  hunger,  and  when  no  wild  beast  challenges  him 
to  fight,  his  unemployed  energy  creates  an  object 
for  himself;  full  of  ardour,  he  fills  the  re-echoing 
desert  with  his  terrible  roars,  and  his  exuberant 
force  rejoices  in  itself,  showing  itself  without  an 
object.  The  insect  flits  about  rejoicing  in  life  in 
the  sunlight,  and  it  is  certainly  not  the  cry  of  want 
that  makes  itself  heard  in  the  melodious  song  of 
the  bird;  there  is  undeniably  freedom  in  these  move- 
ments, though  it  is  not  emancipation  from  want  in 
general,  but  from  a  determinative  external  neces- 
sity. 

"The  animal  works y  when  a  privation  is  the  mo- 
tor [incitement]  of  its  activity,  and  it  plays  when 
the  plenitude  of  force  is  this  motor  [incitement], 
when  an  exuberant  life  is  excited  to  action.  Even 
in  inanimate  nature  a  luxury  of  strength  and  a 
latitude  of  determination  are  shown,  which  in  this 
material  sense  might  be  styled  play."  ^ 

In  a  similar  manner  Spencer  writes:  "Inferior 
kinds  of  animals  have  in  common  the  trait,  that 
all  their  forces  are  expended  in  fulfilling  functions 
essential  to  the  maintenance  of  life.  They  are  un- 
ceasingly occupied  in  searching  for  food,  in  escap- 
ing from  enemies,  in  forming  places  of  shelter,  and 
in  making  preparations  for  progeny.  But  as  we 
ascend  to  animals  of  high  types,  having  faculties 
more  efficient  and  more  numerous,  we  begin  to 

^  Essays,  /Eslhetical  and  Philosophical  (Bohn's  Libraries),  Letter  XXVII, 
pp.  112-llS.  Thb  has  been  quoted  by  Professor  Groos  in  The  Play  of 
Animals,  p.  2. 


256  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

find  that  time  and  strength  are  not  wholly  absorbed 
in  providing  for  immediate  needs.  Better  nutrition, 
gained  by  superiority,  occasionally  yields  a  sur- 
plus of  vigour.  The  appetites  being  satisfied,  there 
is  no  craving  which  directs  the  overflowing  ener- 
gies to  the  pursuit  of  more  prey,  or  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  some  pressing  want."  He  goes  on  to  explain 
that  when  the  nerve  centers  are  for  a  long  time 
unused,  since  repair  goes  on  day  and  night  the  cen- 
ters are  brought  into  a  state  of  more  than  ordinary 
instability.  .  .  .  Hence,  play  of  all  kinds — whence 
this  tendency  to  superfluous  and  useless  exercise  of 
faculties  that  have  been  quiescent."  ^  For  Schiller 
'' physical  play  or  the  free  movement  which  is  it- 
self its  own  end  and  means"  is  a  link  in  the 
transition  from  ''physical  seriousness  to  sesthetical 
play"  which  has  no  special  aim.^  And  similarly 
for  Spencer,  "The  higher  but  less  es'sential  powers, 
as  well  as  the  lower  but  more  essential  powers, 
thus  come  to  have  activities  that  are  carried  on  for 
the  sake  of  the  immediate  gratification  derived, 
without  reference  to  ulterior  benefits;  and  to  such 
higher  powers,  aesthetic  products  yield  these  sub- 
stituted activities,  as  games  yield  them  to  various 
lower  powers."  ^ 

The  criticism  that  was  previously  made  of  the 
assumed  independence  of  aesthetic  pleasure  from 
life-serving  functions  applies  equally  well  to  Spen- 

» Principles  of  Psychology,  vol.  II,  part  2,  Appleton   1900,  pp.  628-630. 
*  Essays  MstheticaL  and  Philosophicai,  p.  118. 
»  Op.  cit.,  p.  632. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PLAY  IMPULSE    257 

cer's  theory  which  makes  freedom  from  "  immediate 
needs"  and  from  "reference  to  ulterior  benefits" 
a  characteristic  of  the  art  impulse.  In  regard  to 
play,  which  seems  to  be  identified  with  the  art  im- 
pulse, Schiller's  and  Spencer's  ideas  of  stored-up 
or  superabundant  energies  have  no  positive  physi- 
ological facts  to  back  them.  Spencer  is  cautious 
when  he  speaks  of  it  as  "A  state  of  more  than  or- 
dinary instability — a  state  of  excessive  readiness 
to  decompose  and  discharge,"  ^  but  he  does  not 
account  for  the  numerous  instances  of  play  where 
the  child  or  primitive  man  not  only  continues  but 
even  initiates  frolic  when  he  is  too  fatigued  to 
work,  and  where  he  drops  from  exhaustion  before 
he  can  be  induced  to  stop.  Who  has  not,  as  a 
child,  felt  a  sudden  realization  of  extreme  weariness 
when  he  has  been  called  from  his  play  to  perform 
some  useful  chore?  Experience  also  contradicts 
the  theory  that  motor  energies  which  have  been 
denied  an  outlet  in  the  reactions  of  the  routine 
work  of  the  day  find  such  expression  in  games.  It 
does  not  matter  how  active  the  child  has  been — 
and  there  are  few  muscles  that  an  active  child  does 
not  use — seldom  will  he  refuse  to  join  in  a  game, 
and  frequently  the  more  tired  he  is,  the  more  rest- 
less and  desirous  of  doing  something  he  becomes. ^ 
There  has  been  added  to  the  surplus  energy  the- 

1  Op.  cU.,  p.  629, 

'  Professor  Groos  gives  a  number  of  examples  from  the  play  of  man  and 
animals  such  as  the  play  of  dogs  after  they  seem  entirely  exhausted.  The 
Play  of  Animals,  pp.  19-22.  See  also  McDougall,  Social  Psychology,  pp.  107- 
108. 


258  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

ory  that  of  the  desire  for  recreation,  but  as  Professor 
Groos  has  pointed  out  this  is  appUcable  to  only  a 
limited  sphere.^  Indeed,  it  is  doubtful  if  this  is  ever 
the  sole  motive.  Such  theories  as  the  above,  then, 
though  extremely  suggestive  and  in  some  of  their 
aspects  founded  upon  facts,  are  inadequate  to  ex- 
plain the  general  characteristics  underlying  the 
play  activity.  What  has  been  said  of  the  surplus 
energy  theory  applies  equally  to  theories  based 
upon  the  assumption  of  a  "normal  amount  of  ac- 
tivity in  any  portion  or  the  whole  of  the  organ- 
ism." 2 

Professor  Groos,  after  showing  the  inadequacy  of 
the  energy  theory,  formulates  one  derived  from  his 
extensive  investigations  of  the  play  of  man  and 
animals,  and  based  upon  the  primitive  develop- 
ment of  instincts  and  the  law  of  natural  selection. 
"The  play  of  young  animals  has  its  origin  in  the 
fact  that  certain  very  important  instincts  appear 
at  a  time  when  the  animal  does  not  seriously  need 
them.  .  .  .  The  utility  of  play  is  incalculable. 
The  utility  consists  in  the  practice  and  exercise  it 
affords  for  some  of  the  more  important  duties  of 
life."  ^  And  further,  "Animals  cannot  be  said  to 
play  because  they  are  young  and  frolicsome,  but 
rather  they  have  a  period  of  youth  in  order  to 
play."  *    There  are  many  objections  to  this  theory, 

» Op.  cit..  p.  17. 

*  Grant  Allen,   Psychological  Esthetics,  p.  22.    Other  theories  such  as 
the  recapitulation  theory  and  the  atavistic  theory  are  highly  speculative. 

»  Op.  cU.,  pp.  75-76. 

*  Ibid.,  p.  75. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PLAY  IMPULSE    259 

important  among  which  are  that  a  teleological 
principle  is  invoked,  and  the  fact  that  even  if  the 
instincts  enumerated  are  admitted,  we  have  gained 
very  little  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  the  activity. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  theory  has  the  advantage, 
shared  with  most  of  those  of  modern  times,  of  em- 
phasizing the  biological  significance  of  play. 

Professor  McDougall  ^  criticises  Professor  Groos's 
theory  on  the  ground  that  many  of  the  instincts  do 
not  appear  in  their  true  form  in  play — dogs  do  not 
actually  bite  one  another,  although  they  are  suffi- 
ciently developed  to  do  so — ^and  also  because  it 
cannot  explain  many  of  the  plays  of  children  which 
are  not  directly  due  to  instincts.  Professor  Mc- 
Dougall, in  fact,  denies  that  play  can  be  ascribed  to 
an  instinct;  rather,  it  is  a  tendency  and  "must  be 
reckoned  among  native  tendencies  of  the  mind  of 
high  social  value."  ^  He  lays  great  stress  upon  the 
motives  underlying  play,  especially  those  of  getting 
the  better  of,  emulating,  and  excelling  others.  Pro- 
fessor McDougairs  criticisms  are  well  founded  and 
his  positive  statements  are  cautious  and  suggestive, 
and  although  not  developed  sufficiently  to  give  an 
entirely  satisfactory  description,  mark  a  decided 
advance. 

A  recent  theory  based  upon  instincts,  is  that  of 
Norsworthy  and  Whitley,  who  state  that  "so-called 
play  resolves  into  the  functioning  of  gradually 
ripening  instincts  evoked  by  situations  not  stamped 

^  Social  Pgychdogy,  pp*  108  et  aeq. 
» Ihid.,  p.  107. 


260  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

with  the  economic  need  which  would  lead  us  to 
call  the  activity  work."  ^  Influenced  by  the  sug- 
gestions of  Professor  Thorndike,^  they  assert  that 
in  a  more  primitive  environment  where  the  needs 
are  more  insistent,  what  is  called  "play"  would  be 
termed  "work."  What  has  previously  been  said 
concerning  instincts  applies  equally  here.  In  addi- 
tion, it  is  a  question  among  scientists  (granted  that 
there  are  such  instincts),  whether  there  is  this 
"gradual  ripening,"  upon  which  they  have  based 
their  deductions.  The  description,  however,  has  the 
advantage  of  not  relying  upon  innate  tendencies, 
but  placing  great  importance  upon  the  influence 
of  the  environment.  The  theory  of  Miss  Appleton  ^ 
to  which  they  refer,  and  which  makes  play  depen- 
dent upon  the  structure  of  the  body,  attempts  to 
explain  the  various  forms  of  play  which  develop,  ac- 
cording to  the  requirements  of  the  organism,  rather 
than  to  investigate  the  general  characteristics. 

For  our  purpose,  it  seems  more  advantageous 
instead  of  invoking  mysterious  instincts  and  im- 
pulses as  explanation  both  of  play  and  art,  to  at- 
tempt a  brief  description  of  the  facts  in  the  devel- 
opment of  play  in  the  child,  and  to  compare  this 
with  what  we  know  of  artistic  creation.  According 
to  the  generally  accepted  principle  in  psychology, 
every  stimulation  of  the  organism  must  have  a 


'  Psychology  and  Childhood,  p.  210. 

*  Original  Nature  of  Man,  p.  146. 

*  A  Comparative  Study  of  the  Activities  of  Adult  Savages,  and  Civilized 
Children. 


THE  NATURE  OF  THE  PLAY  IMPULSE    261 

motor  outlet.  In  the  early  stages  of  life,  shortly 
before  and  after  birth,  these  movements,  due  to 
touch  and  pressure  from  without  and  within,  to 
stimulations  of  light  and  sound,  etc.,  seem  to  be 
almost  entirely  incoordinated  and  random.  This 
much  can  be  said,  however,  that  whenever  these 
movements  are  blocked  by  some  external  force, 
there  is  a  persistence  of  the  movement  which  has  a 
tendency  to  overcome  the  obstacle.  The  repetition 
of  movement  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  sensation 
caused  by  the  resisting  object  discharges  through 
the  motor  path  of  least  resistance,  and  that  is  the 
one  that  has  just  been  used.  Many  believe  that 
the  unimpeded  activity  is  pleasant,  and  the  blocked 
movement  unpleasant. 

At  any  rate,  various  muscular  coordinations,  de- 
veloped through  chance,  are  found  by  the  indi- 
vidual useful  in  his  later  adaptation  to  his  environ- 
ment. These  coordinations  of  Necessity  become 
increasingly  complex  in  nature,  so  that  the  child 
constantly  finds  itself  in  situations  which  call  for  a 
nicer  adaptation  and  adjustment  than  it  has  at  its 
command.  It  therefore  "makes"  an  environment 
for  itself,  commensurate  with  its  abilities.  We  are 
accustomed  to  speak  of  such  activities  as  play. 
What  the  form  will  be  depends  upon  conditions. 
The  children  of  the  most  primitive  peoples  have 
had  to  be  content  with  the  simplest  products  of  the 
imagination.  The  child  of  to-day  has  many  forms 
of  play  provided  for  it.  There  is  also  the  added 
fact  that  the  range  for  imitation  has  become  in- 


«62  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

creasingly  great.  Imitation  itself  can  be  explained 
as  a  natural  effect  of  the  surroundings,  as  can  also 
the  various  important  motives,  such  as  rivalry, 
emulation,  etc.  According  to  this  description,  it 
is  not  an  instinct  of  play  that  develops  certain  situ- 
ations, but  the  interaction  of  organism  and  environ- 
ment that  develops  a  certain  activity  which  has 
been  termed  "play." 

That  play  results  from  this  conflict  of  the  desire 
early  developed  by  the  lessons  of  experience  to 
adapt  ourselves  to  the  many  situations  of  life,  and 
to  the  lack  of  the  ability  to  do  so,  is  seen  especially 
in  the  case  of  the  delicate  child  who,  instead  of 
playing  with  boisterous  and  vigorous  companions, 
withdraws  to  a  world  of  its  own  imagination,  peo- 
pled with  fanciful  playmates  who  speak  a  language 
probably  only  partly  intelligible  to  itself.  Such  a 
world  becomes  so  real  to  it  that  it  is  only  from 
another's  point  of  view  that  the  activity  is  called 
play.  For  the  child  the  playmates  exist,  and  so 
vividly  are  they  present  that  often  there  is  a  howl 
of  real  anguish  if  a  ** grown-up"  inadvertently  sits 
upon  a  chair  already  occupied  by  one  of  its  imagi- 
nary companions. 

§  4.  The  Social  Factor  in  the  Art  Impulse 

In  all  forms  of  play  there  is  so  close  a  resemblance 
to  artistic  creation  that  it  is  small  wonder  that  the 
two  have  been  identified.  At  first  thought,  the 
children's  play  of  "Mother  and  Father,"  or  of  "In- 
dians," since  all  the  characteristics  of  dramatic 


SOCIAL  FACTOR  IN  THE  ART  IMPULSE    263 

construction  are  present,  seems  to  show  the  dawn 
of  aesthetic  production,  but  that  is  a  judgment 
based  alone  upon  the  form  of  expression.  One  es- 
sential feature  is  absent,  and  that  is  the  social  fac- 
tor, the  desire  to  communicate  the  experience  to 
others.  If  we  add  this  characteristic  to  play,  we 
have  the  aesthetic.  A  child  may  dress  as  an  Indian 
and  be  content  to  play  by  itself  for  hours  at  a  time, 
but  at  some  period  it  will  demand  an  audience  to 
watch  it  perform,  and  it  will  expect  to  share  its 
pleasure  with  the  onlookers.  This  may  come  very 
early  in  a  child's  life,  but  whenever  it  does  come  it 
marks  a  new  epoch  in  its  series  of  experiences. 
This  social  element  is  never  essential  for  play. 
Often  the  pleasure  is  greater  without  companions, 
but  even  when  the  child  does  demand  mates,  they 
are  there  as  part  of  the  game,  as  are  also  the  sofas 
and  chairs,  to  be  ordered  about  and  handled,  and  not 
purely  as  playfellows  nor  yet  as  spectators.  Indeed 
there  is  a  very  marked  absence  of  the  social  quality 
in  the  play  of  children.  How  rarely,  for  example, 
do  we  see  any  expression  of  sympathy  among  them. 
If  one,  for  some  reason,  begins  to  cry,  the  others 
continue  their  sport  so  utterly  oblivious  of  their 
companion's  sorrow,  that  for  the  adult  onlooker, 
the  scene  is  ludicrous. 

The  social  factor  in  art  has  frequently  been  men- 
tioned ^  although  it  has  not  always  been  so  specific- 

^  For  Professor  Baldwin  self-exhibition  is  a  social  factor  in  art,  since  there 
is  present  the  desire  for  approval  in  an  audience.  According  to  his  state- 
ment "The  social  judgment,  which  a  work  of  art  hjis  to  sustain,  finds  its 


264  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

ally  emphasized  as  a  distinguishing  feature  of  the 
activity,  as  has  been  done  by  Guyau,  who  states 
that,  *'the  artistic  emotion  is  then  essentially  social. 
Its  result  is  to  enlarge  the  individual's  life  in  caus- 
ing it  to  merge  into  a  larger  and  more  universal  life. 
The  highest  aim  of  art  is  to  produce  an  aesthetic 
emotion  of  a  social  nature."  ^  Professor  Hirn  has 
also  observed  the  social  side:  "In  order  to  under- 
stand the  art  impulse  as  a  tendency  to  aesthetic 
production,  we  must  bring  it  into  connection  with 
some  function,  from  the  nature  of  which  the  spe- 
cifically artistic  qualities  may  be  derived.  Such  a 
function  is  to  be  found,  we  believe,  in  the  activi- 
ties of  emotional  expression."  ^  Further  on  he 
adds:  "The  work  of  art  presents  itself  as  the  most 
effective  means  by  which  the  individual  is  enabled 
to  convey  to  wider  and  wider  circles  of  sympa- 
thizers an  emotional  state  similar  to  that  by  which 

correlative  impulse  in  the  self-exhibition  of  the  producer."  {Social  and 
Ethical  Interpretations  in  Mental  Developments,  p.  150.)  There  is,  how- 
ever, more  than  this  wish  for  approval  or  social  support  which,  indeed, 
is  present  in  many  non-sesthetic  impulses,  namely,  the  desire  to  have 
others  share  our  pleasiu-e  through  "participation"  in  our  aesthetic 
production. 

Although  Dr.  Ernst  Grosse  made  absence  of  purpose  in  art  an  essential 
difference  between  art  and  play  he  nevertheless  recognized  the  social  func- 
tion of  art,  for  he  has  written:  "The  artist  labors  not  only  for  himself  but  for 
others;  and  although  one  cannot  say  that  the  only  incentive  to  artistic  cre- 
ation is  a  desire  to  impress  other  people,  yet  the  forms  and  development  of 
art  are  determined  essentially  through  the  consideration  of  a  public, — not 
so  much  as  it  exists  but  as  it  is  idealized  by  the  artist.  In  fact  a  work  of  art 
presupposes  a  public,  just  as  much  as  it  does  an  artist."  (Die  Anfdnge  dir 
Kunst,  p.  47.) 

^  Uart  au  point  de  vue  sodologique,  p.  21. 

2  The  Origins  of  AH,  p.  29. 


SOCIAL  FACTOR  IN  THE  ART  IMPULSE    265 

he  is  himself  dominated."  ^  In  short,  there  are 
other  means  of  communicating  ideas,  but  art  is  the 
only  form  in  which  the  emotional  states  are  com- 
municated for  their  own  sake.  That  ideas  are  com- 
municated by  art  is,  of  course,  true,  but  they  are 
presented  in  such  a  form  that  others  are  able  to 
have  the  same  pleasure  as  recipients  of  the  ideas 
that  we  have  had  in  their  conception.  They  are 
thus  given  the  opportunity  to  participate  in  our 
aesthetic  life.  It  is  undoubtedly  this  characteristic 
of  art  to  which  Guyau  refers  when  he  speaks  of  an 
enlargement  of  the  individual  life.  Just  as  there 
are  other  modes  of  communicating  ideas,  so  there 
are  other  ways  of  commimicating  emotion,  but 
in  such  non-aesthetic  situations  it  is  not  that 
we  desire  another  to  participate  in  our  affective 
life  through  aesthetic  empathy,  but  rather  to  re- 
spond with  a  corresponding  emotion  as  love,  or  to 
react  with  what  might  be  termed  a  complementary 
response,  as  when  one  in  anger  shakes  a  fist  at  one's 
enemy.  In  this  latter  situation,  it  is  not  the  emo- 
tion of  anger  but  that  of  fear,  with  its  corresponding 
reaction,  that  we  are  desirous  of  arousing.  There 
is  an  effect  in  this  instance  beyond  the  mere  shak- 
ing of  the  fist.  How  disconcerting  it  would  be  un- 
der such  circumstances  to  obtain  an  aesthetic  re- 
sponse, such  as  would  be  indicated  by  the  enemy 
remarking,  *'What  a  delightful  pose." 

It  is  often  stated  that  artistic  work  is  not  pro- 
duced with  the  thought  of  an  audience,  and  the 

^  The  origin  of  Art,  p.  85. 


266  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

objection  to  the  above  theory  will  be  made  that 
many  artists  have  no  idea  of  a  public  when  they 
are  creating.  Indeed,  we  frequently  hear  the  state- 
ment from  artists,  perhaps  in  defensory  reaction  to 
criticism,  that  they  do  not  care  what  people  think; 
that  further  it  is  a  matter  of  complete  indifference 
whether  any  one  sees  the  picture  or  not.  It  is 
truly  a  lowering  of  the  standard  of  art  to  create 
merely  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  the  public,  especially 
when  we  do  not  approve  of  its  standards.  Every 
true  artist  will  rebel  against  the  idea  of  "catering" 
to  anyone,  but  is  there  not  somewhere  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  artist's  mind  the  desire  for  some  audi- 
ence? If  the  human  beings  with  whom  he  is  im- 
mediately surrounded  are  not  deemed  by  him 
sufficiently  developed  aesthetically  and  therefore 
worthy  of  the  privilege  of  viewing  his  production, 
then  does  he  not  create  a  sympathetic  audience  out 
of  his  imagination,  an  ideal  construction  which 
meets  his  highest  standard  of  appreciation?  If  we 
should  say  to  an  artist  who  had  retired  from  the 
world  with  the  products  of  his  artistic  creation 
that  we  knew  a  man  who  was  capable  of  under- 
standing his  work,  and  who  would  be  in  sympathy 
with  it,  would  not  his  eyes  glow  with  pleasure,  and 
if  he  had  not  grown  too  skeptical  from  bitter  dis- 
appointment, would  he  not  insist  upon  meeting 
the  man?  In  all  situations  in  life,  we  seek  sympa- 
thy and  understanding,  but  the  artist  finds  it 
essential  and  creates  such  an  audience  in  imagina- 
tion if  it  is  not  given  to  him  in  reality.    The  poor, 


SOCIAL  FACTOR  IN  THE  ART  IMPULSE    267 

neglected  poet  who  has  given  up  hope  of  being 
heard,  still  composes  to  some  one,  to  the  angels  if 
you  will.  Even  Robinson  Crusoe  on  his  seemingly 
deserted  island,  without  an  expectation  of  seeing  a 
human  being,  if  in  a  moment  of  artistic  fervor,  he 
had  sketched  upon  the  sand,  would  have  done  so 
with  the  social  idea  somewhere  present  in  his  con- 
sciousness, and  surely  one  of  the  satisfactions  of 
Friday's  appearance  upon  the  scene  would  have 
been  the  response  that  Crusoe  would  have  obtained 
regarding  his  sketch. 

Another  distinction  that  has  rightly  been  made 
between  play  and  art,  is  that  the  former  is  evan- 
escent while  the  latter  has  the  quality  of  perma- 
nence. This  demand  for  permanence  is  included 
in  the  desire  for  communication,  in  that  we  desire 
the  form  to  be  lasting  in  order  to  have  as  large  an 
audience  as  possible.  It  is  not  necessary  for  an 
object  to  have  this  quality  of  permanence  in  order 
to  be  considered  beautiful.  The  medium  employed 
may  be  a  matter  of  chance  and  does  not  concern 
us  here.  The  psychology  of  the  situation  does, 
however,  and  certainly  the  artist's  ideal  is  conspic- 
uously one  of  permanence,  just  as  it  is  one  of  social 
communication.  It  seems  hardly  believable  that 
if  an  artist,  in  a  less  serious  mood,  had  successfully 
carved  a  statue  in  ice,  he  would  not  have  regretted 
the  medium  chosen.  On  the  other  hand,  there 
would  be  no  such  feeling  of  loss  in  regard  to  a  form 
of  play,  and  here  again  the  fundamental  difference 
between  the  two  activities  may  be  seen,  for  it  is 


268  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

not  a  matter  of  degree  but  of  essential  human  mo- 
tives. It  seems  safe  to  say  that  no  art  form  would 
have  come  into  existence  if  it  were  not  for  the  hope 
of  an  audience,  real  or  imaginary.  It  is  only  in  this 
sense  of  permanency  for  social  reasons  that  the 
beauty  of  a  work  of  art  may  be  considered  as  rest- 
ing in  the  object,  for  the  possible  audience  is  pre- 
supposed and  the  beauty  is  thus  a  latent  possibility. 

The  impulse  to  create  works  of  art  may  then  be 
considered  not  identical  with,  but  a  development 
from,  the  play  impulse,  through  the  addition  of  the 
desire  for  social  expression  and  communication. 
In  the  aesthetic  attitude,  which  is  one  of  apprecia- 
tion, there  is  in  common  with  play  the  desire  to 
become  satisfactorily  adjusted  to  a  situation,  but 
it  is  doubtful  whether  the  social  factor  is  necessa- 
rily present  except  perhaps  in  the  aesthetic  attitude 
toward  nature  where  there  is  an  element  of  creation 
as  well  as  appreciation.  Even  here,  however,  the 
social  factor  does  not  seem  to  be  as  essential  as  it 
is  in  the  creation  of  art. 

iEsthetic  appreciation  must  be  present  before 
there  can  be  artistic  production.  Being  thus  prior 
to  the  creation  of  permanent  forms  of  beauty  its 
earliest  manifestations  must  have  been  in  the  con- 
templation of  those  natural  objects  which  offered 
the  opportunity  for  the  successful  coordination  of 
the  organism;  and  these  first  aesthetic  pleasures 
must  have  been  in  this  smooth  and  harmonious 
adjustment  which  means  a  complete  unification  of 
the  individual  and  his  immediate  world. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  ART  EVDPULSE    269 

§  5.  Development  of  the  Art  Impulse 

That  this  pleasure  occurs  very  early  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  race,  and  that  it  appears  in  early 
childhood  is  safe  to  assume,  but  just  when  such  a 
consciousness  of  beauty  arises  is  very  diiKcult  to 
say,  for  it  is  impossible  to  judge  the  exact  period 
of  such  mental  development,  either  in  primitive 
peoples  or  children,  merely  from  the  form  of  their 
activity.  It  is,  for  instance,  fallacious  to  conclude 
that  an  infant  has  acted  from  an  artistic  impulse 
when  it  consistently  chooses  one  color  rather  than 
another  from  a  series  of  colored  papers  presented 
to  it,  since  any  one  of  a  number  of  factors  may  con- 
dition the  choice,  such  as  the  brightness  of  a  par- 
ticular color  which  causes  it  to  stand  out  from  the 
others  and  thus  to  attract  the  attention,  or  the 
association  of  the  color  with  some  familiar  object 
to  which  the  child  has  already  become  adjusted. 
Indeed,  without  further  evidence,  such  a  reaching 
out  for  a  color  or  attention  to  a  soimd,  although 
interesting  from  the  point  of  view  of  child  behavior, 
should  not  be  included  in  aesthetic  choices  any  more 
than  the  reaction  of  a  bull  to  a  red  flag.  It  is  only 
later,  when  the  child  can  give  more  evidence, 
through  words,  of  its  motive,  that  we  can  be  sure. 

The  delight  in  rhythmical  movement  for  its  own 
sake  is  undoubtedly  the  fundamental  factor  in  the 
dance,  music,  and  in  poetry,  if  not  in  all  forms  of 
art,  and  one  that  appears  very  early.  There  are 
many  productions  of  young  children  that  bear  the 


«70  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

indubitable  stamp  of  artistic  creation.  Who  can 
doubt  that  the  four-year  old  authoress  of  the  fol- 
lowing lines  had  already  many  times  experienced 
the  joy  of  soimd  and  rhythm  until  it  burst  into  ex- 
pression? 

"There  is  going  to  be  the  sound  of  bells 

And  murmuring. 

This  is  the  brook  dance; 

There  is  going  to  be  the  sound  of  voices. 

And  the  smallest  will  be  the  brook: 

It  is  the  song  of  water 

You  will  hear, 

A  little  winding  song 

To  dance  to.  ..."  \ 

The  artistic  sense  frequently  develops  very  rapidly 
and  without  any  deliberate  influence  from  the 
parents.    At  the  age  of  nine  this  same  child  wrote: 

"Orchid  Lady 
Tan-and-green  orchid. 
Are  you  a  little  lady  , 

Holding  up  your  skirts 
Above  wet  grass? 
Do  you  wear  a  feather 
Where  that  white  is  showing? 
Is  there  any  color 
Shut  inside  your  heart? 
I  could  be  an  orchid, 
I  could  be  a  lady, 
I  could  wear  a  feather, 
I  could  step  Uke  you: 

*  From  a  collection  of  verse  by  Hilda  Conkling  entitled  Poema  by  a  Little 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  ART  IMPULSE    271 

There  is  just  the  difference 
Of  your  way  of  bowing. 
And  your  tilted  bonnet 
And  your  satin  shoe ! "  ' 

There  are  several  other  human  impulses  which 
have  been  supposed  to  underlie  that  of  art,  such  as 
the  sex  instinct,  the  instinct  of  combat,  and  the 
desire  to  prepare  for  future  activities,  which  in- 
cludes the  idea  of  usefulness.  These  various  phases 
of  human  activity,  however,  merely  present  the 
opportunity  for  the  development,  and  cannot  be 
considered  in  the  same  relation  to  the  art  impulse 
as  is  play.^ 

Sex  attraction  has  seemed  to  a  number  of  writers 
a  very  important  motive  for  the  art  impulse,  and 
Darwin's  description  of  the  attraction  among  ani- 
mals might  seem  to  lend  weight  to  this,  since  among 
animals  at  least  one  of  the  sexes  is  frequently  beauti- 
fully colored,  especially  in  the  mating  season.  That 
such  colors  may  attract  the  opposite  sex  is  quite 
possible,  but  it  has  no  point  to  speak  of  the  aesthetic 
value  of  such  factors.  That  they  often  seem  beau- 
tiful to  us  is  true,  but  whether  it  means  anything 
more  to  the  animal  than  the  attraction  of  attention 
by  intense  stimuli,  can  no  more  be  answered  than 
in  the  case  of  the  infant.  If  the  aesthetic  quality  is 
invoked,  then  the  animal  must  have  already  had 

^  Unpublished  poem  by  Hilda  Conkling. 

'  For  a  description  of  the  imagination  of  children  in  play  and  art,  erf  the 
earliest  art  forms  in  children  and  primitive  people  and  of  the  genetic 
development  of  the  dance,  music,  poetry,  etc,  see  Wilhelm  Wundt, 
Volkcrpsychologie,  vol.  2,  part  1.         , 


272  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

the  aesthetic  sense  developed  before  it  could  be  at- 
tracted, and  it  would  thus  be,  so  far  as  appreciation 
is  concerned,  quite  independent  of  any  sexual  in- 
stinct. As  a  matter  of  fact,  modern  investiga- 
tions have  shown  that  the  colors  of  animals  serve  a 
very  different  purpose,  namely,  that  of  protection, 
and  although  that  does  not  exclude  the  possibility 
of  a  second  form  of  usefulness,  it  throws  doubt  upon 
it.  Even  the  most  brilliant  colors,  such  as  the 
beautiful  combinations  in  the  peacock's  tail  have 
been  shown  by  Mr.  Abbott  Thayer  to  be  protec- 
tive coloring.  When  the  animal  sits  in  the  tree, 
the  feathers  blend  with  the  bright  leaves,  forming  a 
patch  of  sunlight,  which  attracts  the  eye  away  from 
the  body  of  the  bird.  Even  the  marvelously  in- 
tense red  of  the  flamingo  blends  with  the  sunrise 
and  sunset  colors  of  the  sky,  protecting  the  bird  at 
the  time  it  is  most  likely,  on  account  of  its  feeding 
habits,  to  be  seen  on  the  horizon.^ 

The  savage  may  have  obtained  his  or  her  ideas 
of  self-decoration  from  the  animal  and  have  used 
it  for  sex  attraction,  even  without  any  idea  of 
beauty.  Colors  that  one's  mate  has  worn  may 
later  become  pleasant  by  association  without  hav- 
ing any  aesthetic  value  in  themselves.  The  aes- 
thetic feeling  is  here  offered  an  opportunity  for 

^  See  Concealing  Coloration  in  the  Animal  Kingdom  by  Gerald  H. 
Thayer,  in  which  is  described  the  theory  by  Abbott  Handerson  Thayer. 

For  a  criticism  of  the  various  theories  on  the  origin  of  music,  including  a 
refutation  of  Darwin's  hypothesis  concerning  the  music  of  animals  and  it8 
bearing  on  sex  attraction  see  Cari  Stumpf,  Anfdnge  der  Musik,  pp.  7-61, 
and  Richard  Wallaschek,  Primitive  Music,  Chapter  IX. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  ART  IMPULSE    273 

development,  but  certainly  it  cannot  be  said  to  be 
more  than  superficially  related  to  the  sexual  desire, 
nor  can  it  be  admitted  that  the  aesthetically  pleas- 
ing is  merely  a  matter  of  association. 

There  is  no  doubt,  on  the  other  hand,  that  some 
of  the  forms  of  the  dance  have  originated  for  sexual 
purposes.  In  certain  tribes,  for  example,  there  is  a 
dance  performed  by  the  virgins  before  the  older 
women  for  the  instruction  of  the  former  in  sexual 
matters.  Such  a  dance  may  appear  to  be  graceful 
and  will  then  survive  long  after  the  rite  has  lost 
its  original  meaning  for  the  aesthetic  pleasure  it 
affords.  In  the  Orient  many  of  the  dances  are 
merely  for  the  arousal  of  passions,  and  there  is  no 
pretense  at  maintaining  an  aesthetic  attitude.  The 
sex  impulse  is  certainly  the  most  important  for  life, 
and  probably  has  afforded  the  most  opportunities 
for  developing  a  particular  form  of  beauty,  but  it 
cannot  be  considered  the  only  incentive,  nor  should 
it  be  over-emphasized.  Fabre,  for  example,  has 
intimated  that  the  Tarantella  probably  originated 
from  the  custom  of  dancing  wildly  when  bitten  by 
the  tarantula  in  order  to  eliminate  the  poison 
through  the  skin,  and  many  other  forms  of  dance 
have  had  their  origin  in  the  arousal  of  the  religious 
emotion  or  the  fighting  spirit,  and  have  survived 
through  custom  and  tradition.^ 

*  The  savage  has  had  to  imagine  an  environment  suitable  for  its  purpose, 
just  as  the  child  does.  Many  dances  probably  had  their  origin  in  the  neces- 
sity to  prepare  for  combat,  even  though  they  may  have  been  continued  for 
other  reasons  and  as  Wallaschek  has  written:  "  if  daily  life  at  times  does  not 


274  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

Many  conventional  forms  have  not  much  sem- 
blance to  beauty,  although  since  they  resemble  art 
forms  and  have  no  longer  a  purpose,  they  are 
looked  upon  as  such.  Examples  may  be  found  in 
styles  in  clothing,  such  as  the  buttons  on  a  man's 
sleeve,  or  the  slit  in  the  back  of  the  coat,  formerly 
for  the  sword.  The  retention  of  such  forms  is  cer- 
tainly not  dictated  by  a  sense  of  beauty.  Even 
the  headgear  of  the  primitive  fighters,  such  as  the 
feathers  of  the  Indian,  or  the  mammoth  headpieces 
of  more  modern  fighters,  although  they  may  now 
seem  aesthetically  pleasing  to  us,  were  used  to 
frighten  the  enemy.  Many  of  the  forms  we  find 
in  art,  and  this  is  especially  true  of  primitive  art, 
were  originally  due  to  practical  considerations. 
The  round  hut  was  the  shape  best  suited  for  con- 
struction out  of  supple  boughs,  since  they  could  be 
easily  bent  over,  their  two  ends  being  fastened  to 
the  ground.  In  the  Orient,  many  of  the  rooms 
are  long  and  very  narrow,  because  sufiiciently  long 
timber  could  not  be  obtained  to  sustain  a  wide 
ceiling,  and  not  because  such  a  shape  was  consid- 
ered pleasing,  although  doubtless  one  accustomed 
from  childhood  to  such  proportions,  might  think 
any  other  form  queer.  Many  of  the  forms  of  vases 
and  cooking  utensils  were  chosen  for  their  adapta- 
tion to  their  purpose,  and  the  markings  of  the  tools 
had  frequently  a  specific  use  other  than  that  of 
beauty.    We  must  also  be  careful  in  assuming  the 

oCFer  any  occasion  for  war  the  latter  must  be  invented,  and  the  one  who 
possesses  this  power  of  invention  is  in  fact  the  '  artist,' "  op.  eit.,  p.  273. 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  ART  IMPULSE    275 

origin  of  so-called  personal  adornment  to  be  an 
artistic  impulse.  For  instance,  the  faces  of  the  del 
Fuego  Indian  women  are  frequently  decorated 
with  stripes  of  paint,  but  in  the  case  of  widows  this 
is  done  in  order  to  inform  the  world  of  the  manner 
of  death  of  the  late  husband,  a  wavy  line  being 
death  by  drowning,  a  jagged  line  being  death 
through  a  fall  or  by  lightning,  etc.  Even  the 
wearing  of  clothing  by  women  of  many  tribes  was 
not  for  adornment  or  even  through  the  sense  of 
modesty,  but  as  a  means  of  protection  against  evil 
spirits.  There  are  also  those  forms  which  were  used 
purely  for  the  communication  of  ideas,  such  as 
hieroglyphics  and  picture  writing,  and  also  other 
designs  such  as  the  totem,  obelisk,  etc.,  which  are 
symbolical. 

Thus  we  see  the  many  possible  motives  that  un- 
derlie what  may  seem  to  be  the  creative  artistic 
impulse,  but  which  merely  offer  the  suggestion  for . 
the  direction  which  this  impulse  may  take  when 
it  appears.  We  shall  then  find  that  most  of  these 
forms  have  been  modified  along  the  lines  of  beauty, 
away  from  their  original  purpose.  The  lines  will 
have  been  made  more  graceful,  the  rhythm  more 
perfect,  the  balance  more  pleasing,  and  the  unity 
more  complete.  It  seems  safe  to  say  that  unless 
the  forms  offer  such  possibility  of  modification  in 
the  direction  of  the  aesthetically  pleasing,  that  is 
so  that  the  organism  can  readily  adapt  itself  to 
them,  the  most  conservative  race  will  not  retain 
them  for  all  time  through  mere  convention.    Even 


276  THE  ART  IMPULSE 

such  long  established  but  useless  and  unattractive 
forms  as  are  found  in  the  modern  dress  will  gradu- 
ally vanish,  never  to  appear  again. 

Finally  there  is  the  interesting  fact  that  we  find 
not  merely  the  general  artistic  sense  and  the  desire 
to  create,  but  even  very  similar  forms  of  artistic 
expression  early  in  the  race's  history  and  among 
primitive  peoples  and  children.  It  is  true  that  if 
we  find  similar  forms  in  two  races  geographically 
widely  separated,  it  is  frequently  because  these 
races  have  a  common  origin  or  have  had  means  of 
communication  with  each  other.  This  is  the  prin- 
ciple that  is  the  most  stimulating  for  anthropologi- 
cal and  ethnological  research  and  by  which  such  in- 
vestigations must  be  primarily  guided,  but  most  are 
agreed  that  this  principle  is  not  everywhere  valid. 
Often  surprising  similarity  in  art  forms  is  found  be- 
tween races  that  could  hardly  have  had  a  common 
origin  or  means  of  communication,  such  as  the  re- 
semblance of  certain  music  of  the  del  Fuego  Indians 
at  the  southern  tip  of  South  America  with  that  of 
the  Indians  of  New  Mexico.  Underlying  the  re- 
semblance is  the  psychological  fact  that  rhythm  is 
the  most  fundamental  of  reactions.  Indeed  very 
striking  resemblances  in  rhythmical  expressions  are 
found  in  practically  all  peoples.  Another  example 
of  the  similarity  of  art  forms  out  of  the  hundreds 
that  might  be  mentioned  is  that  of  the  "Stave- 
kirke'*  of  Norway,  which  resembles  certain  archi- 
tectural designs  of  the  Chinese.  Perhaps  the  best 
known  design  is  that  of  the  swastika  which  is  found 


DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  ART  IMPULSE    277 

in  almost  every  race.  If  we  admit  certain  common 
characteristics  of  the  human  organism,  and  similar 
features  existing  in  different  environments,  the  ex- 
planation of  such  resemblances  is  very  evident. 
The  common  art  forms  are  merely  the  result  of 
the  general  modes  of  action  which  are  bound  to 
be  developed  in  the  course  of  adaptation  of  an 
organism  like  ours  to  the  natural  forces  of  a 
planet  like  the  earth.  ^  The  fact  that  this  similar- 
ity of  expression  has  been  so  frequently  found, 
strengthens  the  hope  of  eventually  obtaining  many 
valid  aesthetic  laws  for  the  human  race. 

^  Anthropologists  refer  to  this  cause  of  the  origin  of  similar  art  forms  as 
one  of  "psychic  imity."  Such  a  theory,  in  some  respects,  resembles  the  hy- 
pothesis of  "monotypical  evolution,"  namely,  that  all  races  have  a  common 
course  of  development. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CONCLUSION 

This  last  chapter  is  a  brief  summary  of  the  most 
important  facts  of  the  book,  together  with  an  in- 
dication of  their  interrelation  and  their  wider  ap- 
plication to  the  problems  of  human  happiness. 

Whenever  we  are  able  to  adjust  ourselves  suc- 
cessfully to  a  situation,  so  that  our  responses  are 
unified  into  a  well-integrated  or  organized  form  of 
action,  we  call  that  situation  beautiful,  and  the 
accompanying  feeling  one  of  aesthetic  pleasure. 
Whenever  the  situation  is  such  that  imified  adjust- 
ment is  impossible  the  object  seems  ugly  and  the 
feeling  is  one  of  aesthetic  pain.  If  the  human  or- 
ganism were  perfectly  adjusted  to  all  the  varying 
conditions  of  its  environment  the  world  would  ap- 
pear entirely  beautiful  and  there  would  be  no  more 
pleasure  in  beauty  than  there  would  be  in  the  sun- 
light if  it  were  constantly  present.  The  amount  of 
pleasure  in  a  given  situation  depends,  in  part,  upon 
the  degree  of  difficulty  in  the  attainment  of  the 
adjustment.  A  study  of  the  genetic  aspect  of 
beauty  has  shown  that  an  adjustment  may  be  too 
easy  as  well  as  too  difficult  to  be  entirely  pleasant. 
For  the  maximum  amount  of  pleasure  the  required 
adjustment  should  be  commensurate  with  the 
capacity  of  the  organism  at  the  time.    Together 


CONCLUSION  279 

with  this  realization  of  successful  adjustment  there 
is  a  certain  feeling  of  efficiency  which  is  an  added 
inspiration  for  further  action. 

Although  the  adjustments  which  we  make  are 
those  of  oiu*  organism  they  are  projected  into  the 
object  we  are  observing.  In  this  way  they  seem 
to  be  a  part  or  characteristic  of  the  object.  For 
example  the  grace  of  a  serpentine  line  seems  to  be 
a  characteristic  of  that  line  even  though  we  may 
know  that  our  pleasure  is  the  immediate  result  of 
the  ease  of  our  adjustment  to  the  curve.  Strictly, 
however,  neither  grace  nor  any  other  form  of 
beauty  is  in  the  object  or  in  the  organism.  Beauty 
is  a  specific  relation  of  the  two,  for  whether  a  par- 
ticular adjustment  will  be  a  well-organized  one, 
whether  indeed  it  can  be  carried  out  at  all  depends 
upon  both  the  organism  and  the  object  to  which  it 
responds. 

Not  every  relation  to  our  environment  has  the 
possibility  of  arousing  in  us  an  aesthetic  pleasure. 
The  response  is  to  beauty  only  when  the  conditions 
are  such  that  the  adjustment  itself  is  the  source  of 
pleasure.  The  necessary  conditions  for  aesthetic 
pleasure  are  those  which  have  been  described  as 
fundamental  to  the  aesthetic  attitude,  namely,  when 
the  total  situation  is  so  constituted  that  we  are 
guided  in  our  contemplation  only  by  those  clues 
which  are  given  directly  by  the  object  of  beauty, 
or  those  suggestions  which  are  in  harmony  with  it. 
In  principle  such  an  attitude  can  be  assumed 
toward  any  object  from  fountain  pens  to  Paradise 


«80  CONCLUSION 

Lost.  Whether  or  not  a  particular  object  will  call 
forth  such  an  attitude,  however,  depends  upon  the 
state  of  mind  of  the  individual  at  the  time. 

Our  aesthetic  pleasure  in  the  successful  adjust- 
ment to  the  ordinary  things  of  daily  life  is  more 
common  than  is  perhaps  realized.  Equally  fre- 
quent is  the  pain  caused  by  our  inability  to  find  a 
satisfactory  outlet  for  those  responses  which  are 
the  expression  of  our  impulses  and  desires.  The 
great  function  of  art  is  to  provide  this  outlet. 
When  we  are  beset  with  perplexities  of  life  which 
are  beyond  our  power  to  solve,  and  our  imagination 
is  inadequate  to  create  for  ourselves  a  desirable 
situation,  we  turn  to  the  artist  who  gives  us  all 
that  he  has  and  who  asks  from  us  little  more  in  re- 
turn than  that  we  shall  be  an  echo  of  his  thoughts 
and  pleasures.  It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  the 
artist  is  so  often  allowed  a  social  freedom  denied 
to  others,  for  his  joy  is  the  joy  in  creating  and  in 
the  generous  sharing  of  his  treasures  with  others. 

In  the  many  and  varied  forms  of  art  each  in- 
dividual can  find  his  particular  refuge.  The  strong 
and  the  weak,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  prude  and 
the  libertine,  the  prince  and  the  peasant,  can  one 
and  all  select  that  form  of  art  in  which  they  can 
best  realize  a  harmonious  adjustment  of  the  con- 
flicting impulses  which  tend  to  torture  and  distort 
the  soul.  Each  can  find  comfort  according  to  his 
nature,  whether  it  is  in  jazz  or  symphony,  melo- 
drama or  classic  tragedy,  folk  song  or  polyphonic 
prose. 


CONCLUSION  281 

So  long  as  human  personalities  differ,  just  so 
long  will  there  be  sorts  and  degrees  of  beauty.  So 
long  as  the  human  race  is  stirred  by  conflicts  just 
so  long  will  art  itself  endure.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
valuable  possessions  of  the  race,  and  the  only  one 
which  may  be  enjoyed  without  thought  of  recom- 
pense. Art  demands  but  one  thing,  that  we  re- 
main loyal  to  its  beauty. 


INDEX 


Adaptation,  necessity  for  a  new  and      Art  impulse:  creative,  23,  chapter 


successful,  123,  237flF. 

Adjustment  of  the  organism:  to  the 
environment,  13;  in  imification, 
166fiF.;  in  perception  of  proportion, 
234;  in  play,  262;  harmonious, 
268;  importance  in  aesthetics,  278 

Esthetic  attitude,  see  Attitude 

iEJsthetics:  function  of,  13;  defini- 
tion of,  28flF,;  scientific  treatment 
of,  29flF.;  rules  in,  32f.;  object  of, 
41ff. 

Albertinelli,  197,  232 

Allen,  Grant,  19,  37,  253,  258 

Amico  di  Sandro,  154,  245 

Angelico,  Fra,  152,  198 

Angelo,  Michael,  136,  147,  153,  198, 
199,    248 

Angier,  R.  P.,  216,  226,  229 

Anstruther-Thompson,  C,  114,  119, 
219,  220 

Anthropological  investigations  of  the 
art  impulse,  250f.,  276f. 

Antinomy  of  distance,  72 

Appleton,  L.  E.,  260 

Appreciation  of  beauty,  3flf. 

Appreciator,  relation  of,  to  the 
object  of  beauty,  16ff.,  24fiF. 

Aquinas,  Thomas,  47 

Architecture:  aesthetic  attitude  in, 
86f.;  empathy  in,  131fif.;  binding 
effect  of,  in  pictures,  196ff.; 
golden  section  in,  232;  propor- 
tions in,  235f. 

Aristotle,  165 

Art:  history  of,  18f.;  industrial, 
Slff,;  origin  of,  forms,  273ff. 


XI;  development  of  the,  269ff. 

Artist  versiis  appreciator,  13 

Associated    ideas,    164f. 

Asymmetrical  balance,  206f.;  pref- 
erence for,  228ff.;  explanation  of 
preference  for,  236ff.;  illustrations 
of,  chapter  X 

Attention:  a  imifying  process,  158ff.; 
direction  of,  by  lines,  190ff.; 
centering  of,  195ff.;  attraction 
through  detailed  execution  in  pic- 
tures,   204f. 

Attitude:  various  attitudes  toward 
the  environment,  39ff.;  aesthetic, 
chapter  III;  motor,  71;  factors  in 
preserving  the  aesthetic,  chapter 
IV 

Babbit,  Irving,  11 

Bain,  Alexander,  13S 

Baker,  G.  P.,  171 

Balance:  of  motor  impulses,  55ff., 
212f„  216ff.,  218,  229f.;  in  art, 
chapter  IX;  illustrations  of  bal- 
ance in  the  fine  arts,  chapter  X. 

Baldwin,  Mark  J.,  253,  263 

Barker,  Granville,  94 

Bartolommeo,  Fra,  198,  232,  247 

Beauty:  relation  to  the  good  and  the 
true,  3f.;  philosophical,  psycholo- 
gical and  objective  aspects  of, 
14ff.;  theories  of,  44;  free  45; 
participation  in  the  object  of, 
59ff.;  relation  to  truth,  95ff.; 
relation  to  morality,  102ff. 

Belasco,  David,  184 


283 


284 


INDEX 


Bellini,  Gentile,  201 

Berenson,  Bernard,  127,  128 

BisheU,  Frank,  183 

BjOrk,  Oscar,  176 

Bordone,  Paris,  196,  246 

Bosanquet,  B.,  16 

Botticelli,  152,  153,  155,  156,  192, 

194,  195,  234,  244,  248 
Botticelli,  pupil  of,   150,   151,  154, 

194.  231,  244 
Botticini,  152,  153 
Bowie,  H.  P.,  130 
Browne,  G.  H.,  140 
BuUough,     E.,     48,     57,     58,     59, 

72 
Bush,  E.  E.  and  F.  R.,  239 

Carpaccio,  155,  203 
Carritt,  E.  F.,  21, 47 
Children:  art  education  of,  239f.; 

art  production  of,  25 If.;  play  of, 

251f.;  theory  of  the  play  of,  260ff.; 

children's  pleasure  in  rhythm  and 

sound,  269ff. 
Clothing:      proportions     in,      235; 

change  of  style  in,  274 
Color:  unity  in  perception  of,  165f.; 

apparent  weight  of,  218f. 
Colvin,   Sidney,   33 
Comic,  77 

Complex,  suppressed,  70 
Conkling,  Hilda,  270,  271 
Connoisseur,  attitude  of  the,  6 
Consciousness:  center  of,  53;  fringe 

of,  53 
Content:  unity  of  form  and,  169ff. 

unity    of,    in    literature,    170ff. 

unity  of,  in  the  fine  arts,  172f. 

unity  of  form  and,  in  music,  173f, 
Cornelius,  H.,  178 
Cox,  Kenyon,   130,   174 
Craig,  E.  G.,  93 
Crevelli,  91 
Croce,  B.,  7 


Dance:  sesthetic  attitude  in  the, 
94f.;  origin  of  the,  273 

Darwin,  Charles,  271,  272 

Deception,  96f.,  lOOflF. 

Desires:  appeal  to,  69ff.;  art  as 
outlet  for,  280 

Detachment,  48ff.,  65 

Domenichino,  197 

Donatello,  147 

Drama:  sesthetic  participation  in 
the,  60ff.,  77f.;  sesthetic  attitude 
in  the,  92flf.;  empathy  in  the,  137; 
imagination  in  scenic  effects  of 
the,  184ff.;  balance  in  the,  240ff. 

Effort,  economy  of,  in  unification, 
166ff.;  178ff. 

Ego:  projection  of  the,  120f.;  self- 
satisfaction  of  the,  137 

Empathy,  64,  chapter  V;  Lipps' 
theory  of,  llSff.;  Groos's  theory 
of,  117;  illustrations  of,  from  the 
fine  arts,  chapter  VI;  in  balance, 
216 

Eye-movements,   119,   12fff. 

Fabre,  H.,  273 
Fabriano,  Gentile  da,  201 
Fechner,  T.,  29,  163,  165,  225,  231 
Fine  arts:  sesthetic  attitude  in  the, 
89ff.;    empathy    in    the,     134f.; 
illustrations    of    empathy    from 
the,  chapter  VI;  unity  of  content 
in  the,  172f.;  tmity  of  form  and 
content  in  the,  173ff.;  appeal  to 
the   imagination    in    the,    186ff.; 
cues   to  meaning   in   the,    189f.; 
illustrations  of  unity   from  the, 
chapter    VTII;    balance    in    the, 
218ff.;    illustrations    of    balance 
from  the,  chapter  X 
Force  in  the  fine  arts,  143ff. 
Form:  imity  of,  169ff.;  unity  of  form 
and  content,  173ff. 


INDEX 


985 


Form   quality,    163 
Formal  appeal,  78ff. 
Frame,  function  of  the.  51,  90 
France,  Anatole,  94 

Galsworthy,  John,  4 

Ghirlandaio,  194,  195, 199,  200,  iiOl, 

243,  246,  248 
Giotto,  201 

Golden  section,  224ff.;  230ff. 
Gordon,  Kate,  99,  222 
Gracefuhiess,  ISSff. 
Greco,    el,    234 
Groos,    Karl,   117,    120,   257,  258, 

259 
Grosse.  Ernst,  264 
Guercino,  193 
Guyau,  J.  M.,  264,  265 

Hambidge,  J.  G.,  227,  228,  229 
Hedonistic  theory   of   the  art  im- 
pulse, 253 
Herder,  J.  G.,  217f. 
Hildebrand,  A.,  172,  177 
Hill,  A.  S.,  135 
Him,  Yrjoe,  250,  264 
Holt,  E.  B..  70 

Illusion:  sense  of,  21,  67f.;  optical, 

223f. 
Imagination:  appeal  to  the,  182ff.; 

degrees  of  appeal  to  the,  186£F. 
Imitation,    98flf. 
Impulse,  the  art,  chapter  XI 
Industrial    art,    81ff. 
Instinct:    of    play,    259f.;    of    sex, 

271ff. 
Intellectual  background,  11 
Intellectualism  ver»ju  emotionalism, 

6ff. 
Intellectualists,   7f. 
Interest,  intrinsic,  209f. 
Intuitive  response,  8ff. 
Investigation:  methods  of,   of  the 


art  impulae,   250ff.;   anthropolo- 
gical investigations,    250ff. 
Isolation,  48ff. 

James,  William,  11,  53,  118 

Kant,  E.,  45,  253 
Kempf,  E.  J.,  128,  125 

Lange,  Konrad,  21,  38,  67,  68 

Lee,  Vernon,  42,  114,  119 

Lewes,  G.  H.,  9 

Lippi,  FUippino,  195,  201 

Lippi,  Filippo,  199 

Lipps,  Theodor,  113,  114,  115,  116^ 
117,  120,  121 

Literature:  sesthetic  attitude  in,  95; 
empathy  in,  135;  adjustment  of 
the  organism  in  the  enjoyment  of, 
166f.;  unity  of  form  in,  170;  unity 
of  content  in,  170flF.;  rhythm  in, 
173;  imagination  in,  188f. 

Lotze,  H.,  113,  216 

Lowell,  Amy,  189 

Lowes,  J.  L.,  8 

Luini,  B.,  199,  203 

Lundholm,  Helge,  131 

Marshall,  J.  R.,  35,  107,  252 

Meaning,  see  Content 

Meredith,  George,  26 

McDougall,  William,  257,  259 

Mimicry,  inner,  117 

Monet,  Claude,   182 

Moods  expressed  by  lines,  154£F. 

Moore,  H.  T.,  180 

Morality,    its   relation   to   beauty, 

102fif. 
Motor  response,   70;   in  empathy, 

chapter  V;  in  perception,  109ff.; 

in   attention,    158f.;   in   balance, 

chapter    IX.     See    also     Move. 

ment 
Motor  set,  122ff. 


286 


INDEX 


Movement:  tendencies  to,  117f., 
122,  124f„  128;  images  of,  128; 
in  the  fine  arts,  143ff.;  unity 
through  suggested,  198fif.;  factors 
of  suggested,  208f . 
MOnsterberg,  H.,  14,  48,  92 
Music:  psychology  of,  19;  aesthetic 
attitude  in,  85f.;  grace  in  ren- 
dering, 141f.;  unity  of  form  and 
content  in,  173f.;  genetic  develop- 
meat  of.  180 

Nature,    eesthetic    appreciation    of, 

20ff. 
Norsworthy,  Naomi,  259 

Ogden,  R.  M.,  41 

Participation,  complete,  in  the 
object  of  beauty,  59ff.,  279f. 

Perception:  examples  of  change  in, 
24f.;  span  of,  161flF. 

Perfection,  45 

Permanence,  desire  for,  in  art,  267f. 

Perry,  R.  B.,  106 

Personality:  loss  of,  53£f.;  appeal  to, 
69£f.;  degrees  of  the  appeal  to, 
72ff.;  depth  of  the  appeal  to,  80f. 

Perugino,  148,  149,  152 

Phillipps,  L.  M.,  19 

Philosophical  approach  to  aesthe- 
tics, 14ff, 

Pierce,  Edgar,  213,  222f. 

Play  impulse:  relation  to  the  art 
impulse,  253,  268;  nature  of  the, 
254ff.;  biological  significance  of 
the,  258f.;  theory  of  the,  of 
children,  260ff. 

Pleasure:  and  pain,  S4ff.;  eesthetic 
distinguished  from  sensuous,  S5ff. 

Pointillists,   181f. 

Pollaiuolo,  153,  155,  156,  245 

Poussin,  Nicolas,  85 

Praxiteles,  145 


Primitive  peoples,  art  production  of, 

250ff. 
Proportion,     216ff.,     224£f.;     most 

pleasing,     233ff. 
Psychical  distance,  57ff.;  degrees  of, 

75ff. 
Psychology,    r6le   of,    in   aesthetics, 

16ff. 
Puffer,  Ethel,  30,  48,  52,  53,  54,  55, 

207,  209,  212,  215 
Purpose,  absence  of,  46 

Raphael,  134,  148,  149,  151,  192, 
193,  195,  196,  202,  241,  245,  247, 
248 

Realism,  68f.;  in  scenic  effects,  184ff. 

Reni,  Guido,  148,  155,  156 

Repose,    52ff. 

Rhythm,  children's-  pleasure  in, 
269ff. 

Robbia,  Luca  della,  198 

Romanticists,  7f. 

Ross,  Denman,  214,  219 

Rubens,  234 

Ruskin.  John,  96,  97,  100,  135,  136 

Santayana,  G.,  118,  159,  161,  163, 

237 
Sarto,   Andrea  del,   151,   196,    197, 

198,  244,  246,  247 
Sayler,  O.  M.,  92 
Schiller,  J.   C.  Priedrich,  253,  254, 

256,    257 
Sculpture,     aesthetic    attitude     in, 

87ff. 
Self-exhibition  impulse,  263 
Sensations,  unity  in  simple,  165f. 
Sex  attraction,  271 
Shape,  proportions  in  the  human, 

233ff. 
Shakespeare,  58,  92,  171 
Shaw,  Bernard,  104 
Skating,  grace  in,  140 
Smith,  Adam,  136 


INDEX 


287 


Snyders,  Franz,  187 

Social  factor  in  the  art  impulae, 
262ff. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  138,  254,  256,  256, 
257 

Stratton,  G.  M.,  125 

Stumpf,  C,  272 

Sully,  James,  21,  S3 

Swimming,  grace  in,  140f. 

Symmetry:  definition  of,  207,  why 
desired,  214ff. 

Symons,  Arthur,  90 

Sympathy  distinguished  from  em- 
pathy, 137f. 


illustrations  of,  from  the  fine  arts, 

chapter   VIII 
Unreality,  feeling  of,  65flf. 
UtiUty,  absence  of,  45ff. 

Valentine,  C.  W.,  226,  228 

Van  der  Goes,  156,  246 

Van  Dyke,  A.,  157 

Van   Eyck,   90 

Velasquez,  157,  204,  231 

Verestchagin,  V.,  76,  105 

Verrocchio,    143 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  10,  198, 201,  247 

Vischer,  F.  T.,  113 


Tactile  values,  128 
Taine,  H.,  81 
Tenier,  David,  172 
Thayer,  A.  H.  and  H.  G.,  272 
Thomdike.  E.  L.,  260 
Titchener,  E.  B.,  113,  127 
Titian,  11,  193,  196 
Truth,     its     relation     to     beauty, 
96fif. 

Ugliness,  34 

Unconscious,  70;  motor  set,  llOf., 

126f.;  in  unification,  181f.;  bodily 

reactions,  221 
Uniformity  in  multiplicity,  163 
Unity:  changes  in  the  demand  for, 

31;    in   perception,    31.;   chapter 

VII;  of  form  and  content.  169ff.; 


Wallaschek,  R.,  272,  273 

Weight  in  the  fine  arts:  conmiimi- 
cated  through  empathy,  150£F.; 
factors  suggesting,  207£F.;  explana- 
tion of  suggested,  201ff.;  in 
balance  about  the  horizontal 
axis,  222f.;  illustrations  of,  chap- 
ter  X 

Whistler,  J.  McN.,  90,  187,  188 

Whitley.  M.  T.,  259 

Wiertz  Museum,  90 

Wish,  70f. 

Witmer,  Lightner,  226,  232 

Welfflin,  H.,  134 

Woodworth,  R.  S.,  128 

Wundt,  W.,  271 

Zeising,  Adolf.  224,  225.  227,  231 


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